New Year's Eve
by RhondaStar
Summary: A modern Chelsie AU. Charles runs a high-class domestic service company; he is smart, successful and single. He reluctantly attends his friend Robert's New Year's Eve party, but things look up when he bumps into property developer Elsie Hughes on the doorstep...
1. Chapter 1

_**Over on tumblr the wonderful monajo7 produced a little picture manipulation that I adored. I told her I'd write a story based on it - this is the result. I have a chapter 2 in mind if this is well-received...**_

 _ **AU modern Chelsie (of course!)**_

* * *

 **New Year's Eve**

Carson had never been one for New Year – it all seemed such a fuss over nothing. It was, actually, rather a dreary time of year, what with the joy and festivity of Christmas gone and the return to work looming. January and its frost and its gloom.

And of course, another New Year's Eve to reflect on all the things he hadn't achieved since the year before.

He still hadn't managed to find a 'work-life' balance, he was still renting a tiny one-bedroom flat when he really wanted to buy a small house, he was still single, he still had that slightly podgy tummy that he'd been meaning to join a gym and do something about. There were places he hadn't been that every year went on his list of 'things to see'. He'd lived in North Yorkshire all his life and had seen most of Europe; he'd been a high-class butler for years travelling from one luxurious destination to the next until he set up his own company. But there were places in his own country that he'd never seen – Ireland, for example, or Scotland, he'd done Edinburgh – everybody did – but there was more to it than that and whenever he saw one of those 'visit Scotland' adverts he thought he should. He'd like to.

When he'd received his yearly invitation from his old friend Robert to attend his New Year party he thought a few times of tearing it up and pretending he was out of the country. But at heart he was a moral man, a decent man, and lying wasn't in his nature. So, there he was, dressed up and taking a leisurely walk from his flat to Robert's expensive pile of bricks. He didn't really get on with Robert's wife – she was a bit too American for him, her teeth had always seemed an unnatural shade of white that rather drew his focus whenever he was in conversation with her – but he liked his children, especially Mary, and his mother was always good for a laugh, that sharp tongue of hers.

He hated vagueness just as much as he loathed a lack of punctuality; that was a real bugbear. So when the invitation stated 'smart casual' he wasn't exactly clear what that meant. In the end he'd asked a younger man who worked for him; as much as he hated to admit it Jimmy was his best worker – though he'd never tell him so – and he knew about these things, so Charles has asked and he'd suggested jeans, a shirt and a jacket. Charles had taken his advice and was fiddling with his shirt collar as he made his way up the path towards the house.

"Oh, sorry," he said as he suddenly stopped, bumping into the back of someone. "Sorry," he said again, righting himself.

"It's quite alright. It's very dark out here."

The voice is female, there's an accent. Scottish. Warm.

His eyes are still adjusting to the dark but he can make out she's of a petite stature, and she smells lovely… he can't pinpoint it, maybe vanilla, maybe Christmas spice… She's moving up the path again and he follows, grateful when the porch light comes on and he can see more clearly.

"I'm Charles, by the way," he says as he stands behind her at the door.

"Oh goodness, I'm sorry," she turned to face him, taking her hand from the flowers she's holding and stretching it out, "Elsie Hughes."

"Elsie," an older name, "hello." He shakes her hand, reluctantly letting go. "So, you er, know Robert and Cora?"

"Well, I'm more of a friend of a friend. I think I'm a bit of a charity case tonight," she gives him a small smile. "I'm friends with Isobel Crawley, her son is marrying Mary."

"Ah, yes, Matthew."

"Yes, I've known him since he was a boy."

"And you're a charity case because…?"

"Because I'm single on New Year's Eve," she laughed, pressing the doorbell. "Clearly I can't be trusted to be on my own."

"Tell me about it," he said, as they stand side-by-side at the front door.

* * *

The party was crowded, fun but crowded. Elsie had spent the past forty minutes trapped in the kitchen in conversation with a rather ambitious young woman who appeared to want to ram all of her political beliefs down everyone's throat. Sarah, her name, and Elsie had always found 'Sarahs' strong-willed characters. She was exhausted, and slowly getting drunk, she hadn't even made it to the buffet yet.

Escaping by feigning a need for the bathroom she gets lost upstairs and it takes her a good five minutes to find her way back along the right corridor for the right stairs. These Victorian houses have so many extra rooms one would never guess as to when standing outside.

She trails her hand along the rail as she makes her way down; it's an old habit, looking for dust. Her mother used to have her cleaning to earn her pocket money, she got rather good at it and branched out into cleaning the houses of her mother's friends – partly to put herself through University but it had led to her career, and she provided well for herself.

In the hallway beneath her she made out the back of the man she'd arrived at the party with, in a roundabout way. _Chris? Charlie? Colin?_ She smiled to herself; outside in the darkness she could only make out his tall silhouette; in the light of the hall she could see his strong, serious demeanour, the bulk of his shoulders, the width of that chest that produced such a deep rumbling voice. If she'd only heard his voice out in the darkness she might very well have been attracted to it, it was quite a powerful seduction tool. But usually she dated younger men, and he was definitely older than her, maybe five, six years? But older. Young men were more pliable, easier to simply 'drop' if things got too serious. She wasn't a cold woman, not at all, but she didn't have time for relationships and all that messy business that came with it – she'd hurt a man once, Joe, he'd proposed and she'd accepted only to jilt him before they made it to the church. She didn't want to hurt anyone again so she remained single, and younger men were good company; dinner, a movie, sex – and she could turf them out in the early hours without them taking offence. Older men liked to sleep after sex… and they usually only managed to get it up once a night anyhow. She smirked to herself – how wicked she was after three G &Ts.

He caught her eye as she got to the bottom step and there was something there, something about the way he looked at her, as if he was seeing her for the first time. His eyes cast from head to toe then back up to her chest. Then he smiled, very slightly, his mouth twisting to the side as he observed her.

She pursed her lips, lifted her chin only slightly to give the indication of a nod, but as she made her way down the hallway and towards the buffet she most definitely had an extra swing to her hips.

* * *

He doesn't like to admit it to himself, but he's been looking for her all night, scanning the assembled guests for her. He can't place her hair colour – she's not a red-head, not a blonde, something in between, some times light brown under a certain light. But her eyes are bright blue, large blue; earlier he heard her laughing and when he glanced over her eyes were sparkling with mischief and it made him smile, made his chest feel light.

He's not the kind of man who's usually attracted so quickly. But the more he watches her the more he realises how very beautiful she is – though unaware of it, perhaps, unaware of her allure. She's fun too, loud and lively at times. Her hand is on the arm of the man making her laugh; Charles knows him, school teacher, Joseph Molesley, and he's married, his wife won't be pleased if he's flirting, but maybe Elsie isn't aware he's married… Elsie, he wonders if it's short for anything. It seems such an old-fashioned name to him, but then Charles is something from the dark ages.

"Sit down old chap," Robert insists, pushing Charles onto the sofa, Cora squashes in beside him, on his right, and Mary and Matthew beside her. "Picture time," Robert says, lining up his camera, "want some evidence you actually attended."

Charles tries to smile, there's a young girl on his left and her husband next to her – she's some relative or other he thinks, Rose. She's pretty but loud and excitable, and her husband seems a nice but dim-witted chap, always smiling, always rosy-cheeked. Charles thinks of the very interesting conversations they must have then chastises himself for being mean, they look a decent sort, harmless really.

"Come on, get in," he smiles as Matthew pulls his mother to sit on his lap.

Now Isobel Crawley _is_ a nice kind and he likes her very much, respects her very much, she held the surgery together when her husband died. And there's been such talk, such speculation, about her having it away with one of the other partners – Richard Clarkson – but nothing's been proved. It's all just talk, just gossip.

Her friend, this Elsie who seems to have drawn his attention so, is standing to the side watching. He thinks she looks a bit drunk but she covers it well, stands tall and straight, like he'd ask his maids to do.

"Get in," Rose shouts in his ear and he can't help the glare he gives her. But then she's shoving along the sofa, pulling on Elsie's hand.

"Really, I don't need to be in the photo." She insists; she feels like she's imposing as it is.

Rose is insistent though and she tugs Elsie down until she almost falls on Charles and topples back on the sofa.

"Watch it," Rose's husband laughs as he drops off the end of the couch.

"Get up, silly," Rose pulls him back and Elsie is squashed up against Charles, so much so she can feel the outline of his wallet in his jacket pocket. "And get Daddy in on the end too."

Elsie wonders exactly where 'Daddy' will fit, she's practically on Charles' knee – she's not shy but she doesn't even know the man.

When Hugh is seated next to Atticus, Rose sits on her husband's knee and they all shove along and now Elsie _is_ on Charles' knee – well, half on it. Toppling to her right and feeling very silly. She can feel his large hand on the base of her back trying to hold her in place as someone snaps a few pictures and she isn't sure if she's smiling or not but the feel of Charles' knee pressing against her thigh makes her feel incredibly warm. She feels he is looking at her and not the camera but she doesn't turn her head for fear of what she might see there. This is all very silly – they only met on the doorstep three hours since.

She gets up as soon as she can and walks away without looking at him – she needs another drink; the entire thing was quite mortifying.

* * *

"Hi, again."

Charles splutters into his whisky as Alice approaches him from behind, her voice familiar, the hand she places on his elbow unwanted.

"Almost midnight," she points out and Charles instinctively glances to his watch.

"So, it is. Where's Charlie?"

"Went to refill our drinks before the countdown."

"Ah…" he glances about the room, eager to find someone to escape to.

"You enjoying the party? Had a good Christmas?"

"A busy one," he points out gruffly, "no time to rest, our families want the best over the festive period and we provide it."

She smiles at that, "I know, Charles."

"Yes, well, plenty of demand for high class domestic service, I'll take a break when things quieten down in January."

"Make sure that you do," and there's that hand again, on his arm, squeezing.

As he looks up from her hand to her face she leans in and kisses his cheek, "Happy New Year," she says gently, in a tone he's tried to forget.

He swallows. Looks across the room and catches Elsie looking at them and he backs away.

"Happy New Year to you too, Mrs Grigg." He says pointedly.

* * *

As the clock neared midnight Elsie began to back to the side of the room. The lounge and diner were now stuffed with people brandishing champagne glasses – she didn't really like the stuff, gave her heartburn, but she sure could polish off another G&T.

When she reached the far wall she edged along it, her back brushing against the wallpaper, it was almost countdown time and then that meant hugging and kissing and standing there like a total twit as she watched couples embrace and promise each other this year would be better than the last. Blah, blah, blah. Love and false sentiments all because they'd made it to midnight without arguing.

She got to the door as Robert finished his speech and Cora waved them quiet – all of them staring at the flat screen television on the wall and Big Ben.

Backing into the hall she turned, passed a young couple snogging against the wall and stumbled into the kitchen through the swing door.

It was quiet in there and cool, still. The delighted voices of celebration rang through in a muted fashion and she reached for the bottle of gin, pouring a healthy glug of it into her empty glass.

"Happy 2016." A disembodied voice came from the corner of the room and she dropped her glass, grimacing as it smashed. Still, nobody would hear over the singing of Auld Lang Syne.

"Bloody hell," she said, as she turned and spotted Charles slumped on a stool in the corner of the room. "What you playing at? Little Jack Horner?"

"Sorry," he got up, wobbling, and put his own glass aside. "I'll help clean it up."

She bent, picking up the larger pieces of the glass.

"My feet are soaked in gin."

"Could be worse things," he pointed out as he mopped the floor with a cloth from beneath the sink.

"Maybe, what you hiding in here for?"

"Hate parties, forced cheer."

"Are you always so positive?"

He turned his face up to look at her, there it was again, the mischief in those eyes – she was mocking him. Her face was so close to his he could feel the warmth of her skin, smell her perfume again.

And then she did it. She kissed him. And not some polite peck or perfunctory New Year's thing, she kissed him for real; her lips pressed hard against his, sure and deliberate. He opened his mouth to try and breathe and her tongue crushed against his and he felt his trousers tighten – it had been exactly twenty-nine months since he'd had sex. Twenty-nine months… his penis counted each and every day he was sure. He probably would have taken her right there on the kitchen floor if it weren't for her pulling back from the kiss and getting to her feet.

He continued to kneel there like some cretin, breathing hard, jeans tight across his groin, and he watched as she wrapped the glass in newspaper and put it into the bin before he even attempted to stand. His back creaked and he rubbed at it, cursing his age.

"Where do you live?" She asked suddenly.

"Erm, not far," he was confused by the question. "Ten minute walk."

"Good." She put the lid down on the bin. "Let's go before anyone notices we're missing then, shall we?"

* * *

 ** _Well, let me know what you think. Worth continuing?_**


	2. Chapter 2

_**Thanks for all your reviews - unfortunately I can't read any of them because FF . NET is playing up but let's hope that they said you wanted a second chapter... :-)**_

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

It feels somewhat surreal to him; the streets lit with fireworks and the distant sounds of on-going parties, and here he is, walking to his flat with a virtual stranger in the crisp midnight air for one reason and one reason only. He's quite sure of what she meant when she suggested they go back to his, it wasn't to play Scrabble, that was for sure.

Her heels sound out the steady rhythm of their walk and it seems eerily loud against the silence – for there is no conversation, which in itself seems off as usually when he's nervous he chatters on even more.

He's fumbling in his coat pocket for his door key and she stops behind him, her hands in her own coat pockets as she gazes up at the building. It appears a little like him, tall and imposing, sturdy, and she bites down on her lip at the thought of being naked with him. It's not the first time she's slept with somebody she hardly knows but she suspects for him it is.

She places a hand on his back to steady him as he tries to get the key in the lock, hoping he's not quite so useless in bed.

"Do you want me to do it?" She offers, somewhat amused.

"It can be awkward this lock."

The door opens into a small hallway and there's two doors leading to two downstairs flats and a staircase before them, which he takes and she follows, clutching onto her handbag and doing her best to keep up.

He takes two steps at a time; he can't quite remember what state he left his bedroom in – he's a tidy man by rule but he got ready in a rush and he can't recall if he made his bed that morning. Not that he thinks she'll care really, the pair of them are half drunk and even though the frosty air has dulled the effects of the alcohol somewhat there's still a fogginess to his brain.

"Would you like a drink?" He asks, flicking on the lamp on the side table and turning to face her in the hallway, watching as she takes her coat off and hanging it on the vintage coat stand taking pride of place in the dimly lit hall.

"Not really."

She steps towards him and he's overcome with need for her, this woman whose name he barely knows yet whose eyes have captivated him.

When her hands land on his chest and begin working on the buttons of his shirt he breathes deeply, leans in and captures her mouth with his, which seems to catch her off guard and she moans loudly into his mouth spurring him on.

Pressing her back against the wall she yelps in delight at the movement and her arms are around him now, her nails clutching at the material of his coat.

He doesn't want to do this here; he wants her in his bed – his big, lonely bed.

She seems to read his mind, and steps back from him; his shirt hangs open and he watches as she traces her fingertips down the exposed skin. When she slips off her heels he notes how short she is in comparison to him. How petite. And he has visions of scooping her up and carrying her to his bed like in one of those old romance novels.

She tilts her head to one side, "Do I have to find the bedroom on my own?"

He's pushing off his coat as he precedes her down the hallway, and by the time they reach his room she's unbuttoned her blouse; she's wearing some purple silky bra beneath her purple blouse and he can't help himself – he steps into her space, hands on her breasts, palms sliding over her nipples through the material, which were clearly hard before he even touched her. She lets him touch her, removes the heavy necklace she's wearing as he does so and slips by him to place it on the table by the bed.

She's so cool. So calm about all of this.

The room is dark with only the light from the hall lamp and he wishes he could light candles, seduce her, but she's doing a damn fine job of seducing him. There's too many sensations all at once he can't keep track of them – the scent of her growing stronger by the second, the unbelievable silky warmth of her skin, the taste of her mouth; God her mouth, like some silken web enveloping him, enticing him in. And her tongue. Her tongue. On his neck, chest, over his nipples, suckling and nibbling until he yells and she's grinning up at him.

She steps back from him, sliding off her open blouse and draping it over the bottom of his bed. Then her jeans are unzipped, pushed elegantly down her hips and he knows he's watching open-mouthed at the action as she stands before him in just her underwear and he realises he's still got his shoes on.

Worried he's beginning to come across as a bit of a loser, he rushes undressing, kicking socks aside, unbuckling jeans as she lies across his bed watching him, on her tummy, her feet dangling in the air.

As he kneels on the edge of the mattress she waves her hand at him, "All of it, I think." She indicates his boxers and he stares down at the protruding erection.

"Well, fair's fair." He hears himself say, unsure where the tone came from.

But she doesn't seem to mind. She smiles as she gets to her knees and unhooks her bra, letting it fall forward – clearly she has no hang-ups about her body; unlike Charles who is glad of the faint light and the fact she can't make out his wrinkles or that if he stands head on to her she can't see how far out his belly comes.

"What's your surname?" She suddenly asks, and it catches him off guard, standing there stark bollock naked as he is.

"Er, Carson."

"Well, Mr. _er_ Carson, do you have any protection?"

 _Christ._ He doesn't know. It's been forever since he's needed any. He's just glad to know it still works without the aid of little pills.

"Erm, I think…"

She's lifting the quilt and climbing beneath and he realises how flipping cold it is in the flat. He does the same, switching on his bedside lamp and fumbling in the drawer as she waits beside him and he can't recall ever being in this situation in his life. How odd it all is. How surreal. The start of a new year and at 56 he can still experience new things.

"If you don't…"

"Ah! Got one." He says in triumph, holding up the shiny red package and hearing her smile behind him.

"Good," is all she says, and as he turns to look at her she's pushing him down to the mattress and kissing him deeply and in seconds he's between her thighs trying to remember what he used to do as a teenager to stop himself coming too quickly.

He's so turned on he can barely open the tiny packaging, but she has no qualms about helping and sits up, sliding her hand over his and taking it from him, tearing open the wrapper. He can do nothing but watch as she unrolls the condom over the tip of his penis, biting heavily on his tongue and then moaning as she touches him.

"Elsie," he breathes and she looks up at him then, her eyes dark with desire, lips glistening with moisture from their kissing.

He cups her head, slides his fingers into her hair as he draws her to him to kiss and together they fall back to the bed.

That first time is like something out of his dreams from when he was a young man. Passionate, fast, hot and heavy – her legs wrapped tight around him, her chest pushed forward, head thrown back and she's urging him on, calling his name (thank God she remembered his name) and he's pounding into her with abandon.

Somehow – _somehow_ – she comes first and he thanks every spirit and god that exists that she did, that he wasn't a let down. But when her body grips his he lets go immediately and floats up to some fantastical place he'd forgotten existed.

She's like a drug. A new drug and he's hooked – instantly.

"Well," she pants as they lie side-by-side. "That was rather nice."

He tilts his head sideways to look at her and laughs at the expression on her face.

"More than bloody nice."

The sheets are pushed down to her waist and for a moment he slides his index finger along the outline of her breast, the firm softness of the curve alluring to him.

"Yes." She finally agrees. "More than nice. Unexpectedly so."

"Oh?"

She rolls onto her side, tucking one hand beneath her cheek as she watches him, "Well, I wasn't sure as we walked home. The signs had been there all night, you certainly seemed attracted to me."

"Like I haven't been to anyone in years." He groans as he turns onto his side to face her, mirroring her posture. "You thought me a fumbling, bumbling fool, didn't you?"

"Perhaps. For a second."

She has a mischievous yet satisfied look on her face and he feels almost proud as he melts into his pillows beside her.

"I don't usually go for…"

"…men like me," he finishes, rolling his eyes. "You can say it."

"Well, I usually stick to younger men. They're… _simpler,_ for want of a better word."

"In what way?" He is half-interested, half-scandalised by the idea of her having younger lovers. He doesn't want to think of that – that she might have been sleeping with lads half his age that would be in much better shape and perform much more admirably than he might.

"Most of them are quite content with sex, no strings, accompanying you to the odd party and not expecting a phone call the next day. And, scandalously I'm sure you'll think, you can kick them out after sex and they won't take offence."

"That is scandalous."

"I knew you'd think so. But I'm fifty-one, I'm set in my ways. I like to sleep alone, I have the same position I like to sleep in and having a body beside you in the bed just disturbs that."

"Well, I can understand that. I've lived alone long enough to appreciate that."

"So, not judging me?"

He shrugs, "What right do I have?"

He watches her hand slide over him, fingernails tracing through the hairs on his chest.

"Have you done that before?" He asks, his throat still dry from calling out in pleasure. He suspects he already knows the answer, but he asks anyway, out of curiosity.

She smirks and her face is close to his on the pillow, he can feel one of her legs sliding between his beneath the sheets, "Have sex, you mean? Once or twice."

"No." He smiles, "You know I didn't mean that."

"Ah, sex with a virtual stranger?" She nods, "Yes, I've known my fair share of one night stands."

His eyebrows rise, he never expects women to be this way and he can't help but feel shocked by her candour. "Oh." Is all he says in response, "And is that what this is, a one night stand?"

"Well, we don't know that yet, do we? I take it you don't often do this."

"No, never. I've always been in a relationship with a woman when we've er… you know…"

"Had sex."

"Yes. That."

She smirks again and he gets the impression she's laughing at him. "The dreaded 'r' word," she says.

"I take it you don't do relationships."

"Not really no. I tried it when I was young, did as expected – got engaged, all that stuff."

"But never married?"

She shook her head, "No, you?"

"No. Fell in love with a woman I couldn't have."

"She already married?"

"She is now. But then," he shrugged, "we were young, she was my best friend's girl."

"Messy."

"Quite. What happened with your engagement?"

"Well as it turned out I happened to be the most awful woman in the world." She was settled beside him now, her voice barely a whisper as they spoke, her body warm against his.

It was easier to talk in the dark, when he couldn't see her expression all that clearly, and when she was still sated and dozy from the orgasm (and it was a good one too, not a run-of-the-mill, middle-of-the-week orgasm, but a proper one, a knee-shaking one).

"You know the thing was, it's very silly really, we were sitting in a coffee shop one day and Joe started going on about getting this brown sofa, he was so excited about it, a brown sofa for our new flat. And I kept thinking, _I don't want a brown sofa_ and suddenly in my head I had visions of a beige and brown room and boredom stretching out ahead of me and I realised it wasn't what I wanted. Years of marriage. Children. Cooking, dusting, breeding. So," she shrugged, "I broke everyone's heart and called off the engagement two weeks before the wedding. A month later I'd moved to Yorkshire and left Scotland behind, and here I am."

"I don't think you're as cold as you want make out."

"Oh." She sounded amused by his assessment. "And what makes you say that?"

"Because your Isobel's friend and Isobel is lovely. Couldn't be kinder."

"Perhaps. But everyone has to have a naughty friend, don't they?"

"And is that what you are?"

She smiled, her palm flat against his belly beneath the sheets. "Perhaps not. But I hurt him, and I was sorry for that. So I avoid relationships because I certainly don't want to hurt anyone again."

"So, one night stands instead?"

She giggled, "I'm not a complete old slapper neither," she smiled and he was flustered.

"I didn't mean…" then he saw her expression, "you're mocking me?"

"I am. I'm sorry."

"When was the last time you…slept with someone?"

"Nosey." She wrinkled her nose, "Two months, I think, I've been busy, what with Christmas and everything."

"Busy!" He laughed, "Yes, that's my excuse too."

"Go on then, how long for you?"

"Oh no, that'll definitely give you fodder to mock me."

"We're lying in bed naked together, I'm not sure now is the time to be coy."

"Twenty-nine months."

She laughed, covering her mouth, "That's very precise."

"It's fixed in my memory, believe me."

"Oh? Why?"

"Someone I shouldn't have… someone I thought I loved."

"Married? I suspect."

"How can you know that?"

"Intuition." She leant up and kissed him deeply. "Don't worry, I'm hardly judgemental, live and let live, is how I view things." She patted his chest.

"It was just… it was a long time coming and then I was left feeling like a total bloody fool."

"Oh dear." She kissed him again and he felt her leg move over his, her thigh soft against his knee.

"Do you want to… do it again?" He asked cautiously.

"I _think_ they're the signs I'm giving you, yes."

"I don't think I have any more condoms."

"Oh no!" She gasped, covering her mouth and then laughing. "Luckily I am prepared."

He's amazed as she climbs out of the bed, padding naked down the hallway to retrieve her handbag. He's never known a woman like this.

"Surely, it's the man's…" he splutters, because then she's back in the room and he can't help but focus on how her breasts bounce when she moves.

She climbs over his legs, slipping back beneath the sheets. "Are you that old-fashioned you expect women not to be prepared?"

"Well, I just."

"Its as much a woman's responsibility as a man's. Not that I expect to be getting caught out these days mind but still…there are other…" she stops as she finds what she's looking for in her handbag, "here we are."

"A box?!" He gasps, sitting up from the pillows.

She can't help but laugh at him, dropping her bag to the floor and simultaneously pushing him back to lie down as she moves to sit astride him.

"God, you're sexy." He says, reverently tracing his fingers along her body, from hip to breast and then back down again. "I think you're the sexiest woman I've ever met."

"You must not have known many women," she says lowly, leaning forward.

She smiles enigmatically and then she's kissing him again.

This time she takes charge and he's left in no doubt what so ever that this is indeed the sexiest woman he's ever met. The things she does with her body, with her hips – she certainly knows how to give pleasure and she's not shy about it neither.

He can do little but enjoy as she rises above him, pressing herself back, hands behind her on his legs as she moves. And then slowly forward, hands moving to rest on the wall above his head as her body tightens around him. And it's so good. So warm. So intoxicating. He doesn't want her to ever stop. She's massaging him with her body and it's delicious.

She takes her time, draws out his orgasm, but she seems determined to get him to come before she relaxes and lets her own take hold. He holds onto her hips, driving up inside her as she climaxes and he loves the flush that appears across her chest, red marks scampering up the pale skin of her neck. The way her perfectly shaped hair from earlier is now curled and tangled.

He's smiling as she slowly opens her eyes, still moving against him, still enjoying having him deep inside her. Then she leans forward and they kiss for a long time.

* * *

"You mustn't feel bad about it, you know, sleeping with your friend's wife. That woman from the party, right?" She says later, when they've both visited the bathroom and are settled back in bed.

"How did you?"

"I'm a good judge of character. I saw the way she touched you and I saw the way you responded."

He feels his pride expand at that, "That must mean you were watching me too, not just me watching you."

"Perhaps I just noticed." She smiles, flopping onto her back. "Have you always loved her?"

"Alice? Yes. Well, I thought I did." He tiptoes his fingers over her chest, down between her breasts, taking in the wondrous array of freckles. "I thought I did. We were only young when we met, barely twenty. But she chose Charlie, my friend, we'd been the best of friends since school and then her…" He shook his head. "Stupid. All those years I resisted – you want a drink?" He suddenly asks.

"Sure. What are you offering me?"

"Drop of port?" he suggests.

"Goodness, port."

"It's good stuff, I picked it up last time I was in Portugal. If there's one thing all these years in service have taught me is how to pick a good… unless you think it old fashioned?"

She is biting on her bottom lip as she looks up at him, "Not at all. Just a long time since anyone has offered me any."

It amuses her that he sits on the edge of the bed to put his boxers back on before disappearing down the hall and she takes the opportunity to plump their pillows up, turning the lamp on low and pulling the sheets up over her breasts.

"Here we are," he climbs in next to her, giving her two glasses to hold as he takes the stopper out of the decanter.

"This is very traditional."

"I take all wine very seriously."

"So I see, nice glasses too."

"They were a gift from a family I worked for, long time ago, Spanish family."

She watches in silence as he expertly pours their drinks, then waits as he pops the decanter onto his bedside table.

"So, cheers," he says, taking his glass and tapping it against hers.

"Cheers. Happy New Year."

"Oh yes, so it is." He takes a drink, closing his eyes as the velvet liquid slips down his throat. "Not how I thought I'd be spending the first few hours of 2016."

"Well, me neither. I thought I'd be at home now, tucked up and thankful to be over and done with the entire thing."

"Unexpected things can be nice," he observes. "Touch more?"

"Yes, please. You were right, it is very good." He refills and she licks the port from her lips, "Tell me about your job. How did you get into it?"

"Service runs in my family I suppose. Up until the mid 1900's most of the males in my lineage were in service. My Grandfather and father worked at Castle Howard, as a boy I used to accompany my father showing visitors around. By age ten I knew the spiel off by heart."

"That sounds like me with my father, I used to do the milk run with him, sell farm produce, I got to be a good little saleswoman."

"I can believe that, quite the charmer I bet."

She smirked, "Go on, tell me more about what you do. You were a butler? I didn't even know people still had butlers."

"More popular abroad I suppose nowadays, I kinda fell into it following college. Didn't really have a plan, a career in mind, you know. But it's served me well, and I was the best at what I did. Got to travel the world, been as far as Australia working. For twenty odd years I worked solely with families, I had three main ones that I was with for a while. Then I started doing private functions, stand-alone things people would hire me for because of my reputation. And then there came a point when I was tired of travelling, I wanted to come home again, settle. I'd had this flat for years as a bolthole, but I wanted to put down roots. Remind myself where I cam from."

She nodded, she could understand that, and besides, he spoke so wonderfully she thought she could perhaps lean her head against his chest and listen to him reciting the Yellow Pages and she'd still be enthralled.

"Anyhow, I suddenly got this idea about running my own business, I thought if Robert can manage his own business then perhaps I could give it a go."

"How do you know him?"

"College. We were there at the same time. Kindred spirits, old souls with a love of Sinatra and sherry."

"Ha. The geeks, then."

"You could call us that."

"So," she twisted onto her side again, so she could look at him. "People hire staff from you, right?"

"Yes. Sometimes for events, sometimes for longer periods of time, but we have many bookings, more than you might expect. You want some more?"

"No, I'm fine, thank you."

He takes her glass from her, settling back down in the bed. His eyes feel heavy but he doesn't want to sleep yet. If this really is a one-night stand he wants to enjoy every second of it. Every second with her.

"And you, what do you do? I get a sense you're fiercely independent."

"Whatever makes you think that?" she grins, tucking her hand beneath her cheek again. "I rent houses."

"You do? How many do you have on your books?"

"Eight. At the moment."

"You own eight houses?"

"I do."

"Bloody hell."

"I know, tax kills me." She turns over, switching off the lamp again and plunging them into darkness.

"How did you get started with that?"

"Well, I got a job when I got to Yorkshire, in an estate agents. And I watched and I learned quickly. And I saved a decent deposit. When a property came on the books that was cheap and needed a lot of work I snapped it up. It took me sixteen months that first one to renovate, had to get a builder in for structural stuff and a plumber – the entire thing needed new pipe work. But the rest I did myself. Cost me a fortune but I learned a lot and when I'd finished it I sold it on. Made a profit."

"Good for you."

"Hmm. So I bought another one. Did the same thing again, only quicker this time, cheaper because I knew my stuff. Within five years I'd bought and renovated twelve properties and built up quite a healthy bank account."

Charles listened amazed. She seemed so politely spoken, so demure in a way, in stature and manners, who knew she was such a savvy businesswoman?

"I quit my job at the agency. And then I decided to buy a bunch of properties within one area. I started to think of it as a monopoly board, you know the area around University – all those student rentals?"

"You got into that?"

"Yes. I bought three first off, did them up, rented out the rooms. When they were successful I bought more. Now I employ people to run them for me. And I support my sister…" Her voice trailed off.

"You've done well."

"For a woman from Glasgow, yes, the hard part was learning to talk 'properly'."

He knew all about that – playing the part, wearing the mask.

"Most of the time nobody would guess I was a young girl from Glazzy."

"No. Your accent is quite soft actually."

"My intention." She yawned, rolling onto her side away from him and fiddling in her bag on the floor beside the bed. "It's after two in the morning." She said as she slid her fingers across her phone screen. "A barrage of New Year messages." She smirked, "One from Izzy, asking where I disappeared to."

"Will you tell her?"

She craned her head around glancing at him, at where his hand lay on the pillow near her shoulder.

"I don't usually tell many people my personal business."

"Me neither," he nodded. He'd never told anyone about Alice, not until her. He couldn't help but wonder why he had told her.

She put her phone aside, turning over again and snuggling against him. It was chilly outside of the bedclothes.

For a long time they lay in silence in the dark, his hand heavy on her hip, the sound of her breathing, the rise and fall of his chest.

"How come you don't love her anymore?" Elsie finally asked.

Charles' eyes were closed, he curled his arm around the woman beside him, drawing her closer to his body. "She wasn't what I thought."

"Having sex with her changed how you viewed her?" That irritated her somewhat – men and their hypocritical views on sex.

"No. But it made me realise I'd been chasing something that wasn't what I thought it was." He ran his hand down her bare back, across her shoulder blades. This night with her had been worth ten of the fumbled, rushed sex he'd had with Alice on his lounge floor over two years ago. And the guilt. The disgust…

"I'd like to see you again," he finally admitted. "Take you out, for dinner or something."

"You don't have to, I don't need you to be all traditional and charming. I knew what this was when I suggested we leave the party together."

"I'm not asking for that reason."

She bit down on her lip, turning over and feeling him press up close behind her.

"Let me take you out, hmm, a proper date?" He said by her ear.

She smiled, "We've got it all back to front; you're meant to wine and dine me before I let you screw me. That's the natural order."

"Don't joke, I feel bad enough…"

"Don't feel bad." She insisted. "Charles, for goodness sake, we're both consenting adults. We did it because we were attracted to each other and it felt damn good. Bugger what anybody else might think. Sex doesn't always have to come with a side helping of guilt." She patted his hand where it lay on her stomach. "Just enjoy it for what it was." She yawned again, covering her mouth. "I'm so tired."

"Me too. It is after three."

"I may very well regret the amount of alcohol I put away tonight in the morning."

"Paracetamol I can provide. And a cup of tea."

"Hmm, good…"

She wasn't quite sure how she felt about his arm being over her waist as she fell to sleep, it seemed a bit too intimate. But she was too tired to care really, and besides, it wasn't that it felt uncomfortable; it was sort of nice in a way, comforting. But not something she was at all used to.

"Goodnight Elsie," Charles whispered against her hair. It was only seven hours since he'd bumped into her on the path to the party and he couldn't help but feel that in someway his life had irrevocably changed.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Still can't read your reviews but I thank you for leaving them - I really do enjoy reading your thoughts and appreciate the support and engagement with the story.**_

* * *

 **Chapter 3 – January 1st**

When Elsie wakes there's an incessant banging in her head and the world seems to be spinning on a separate axis to the one she's inhabiting. She opens her mouth, licks her lips and stretches her legs.

Behind her she can feel a body pressed against hers, a man's body, that's for sure, going on the very prominent erection jabbing her in the back. A man. _Charles._

She rolls forward, enough so she can lie on her back and look at him. He's sleeping, and snoring, and looks content and she doesn't want to disturb him.

As she shuffles forward he flops onto his back, his snoring gets louder as a result and she smiles at him as she gets out of bed and scoots around searching for her clothes.

It is 10:45 and she needs a shower, and to brush her teeth, and a cup of tea.

His flat looks different in the daylight, more spacious and tastefully decorated – wooden floors throughout, pale colours, dark wood furniture; she approves. She wanders around for a minute or two from hall to lounge to kitchen and then back to the hall seeking the bathroom. She wouldn't usually use somebody's facilities without asking permission but she doubts he'll mind, and besides she doesn't want to wake him.

She's impressed by the attention to detail in the bathroom; matching towels, a basket with different types of lotions and products, face cloths rolled up on a shelf on the wall. There's even a plant in there, most men struggle to refill the toilet roll let alone take care of a bathroom plant.

When she's clean and refreshed some fifteen minutes later she uses the mouthwash on the shelf to rinse, far too much gin the night before and her teeth feel like they're rotting away, and dresses in last night's clothes – thank god she only wore jeans and a blouse, she doesn't look too overdressed for the morning-after journey home.

Opening the bathroom door she realises Charles is no longer asleep. She can see down the hall to his bedroom and the door is open, the sheets folded back. She can hear him in the kitchen and she runs a hand through her damp hair to try and add some volume – she's without make-up and people can look very different in the sober light of day.

"Good morning," she says lightly from the door.

"Ah, morning. I'm making tea." He says, spooning leaves into a pot.

"Real tea, I appreciate that." She steps into the kitchen, the window is open and she moves to stand by it, grateful of the cool air. "Hope you don't mind that I used your shower."

"Course not. Can't believe we slept all that time."

"It was after three when I last looked at the clock." She leans against the counter watching him slice fruit bread. "I slept well though. My head feels a bit dull, I suspect from the amount of units I consumed."

He opens a cabinet and takes out a small tub of pills, "Here. Help yourself to water."

"Thank you."

Somehow she finds herself sitting at his kitchen table eating fruit toast and drinking tea until almost midday, until he catches her looking at the clock and sits back, folding his arms.

"You have plans today?"

"I… I have to nip to the supermarket actually, and yes, I have friends coming over this afternoon. I'm meant to be cooking."

"You don't like to cook?"

"I don't mind it, I just don't do it very often, I'm always so busy. How about you?"

"More so now than ever before in my life."

"I guess you dined on the finer things during your travels."

He nods, "A-ha, but then I was so busy I was racing around everywhere, up and down stairs. Now I sit in an office a lot, hence this." He pats his stomach.

"You look fine," she smiles, "perfectly fine. And you make a good cup of tea."

"Count for a lot that, does it?" He gets to his feet before she has to answer. "I best let you get on with your day."

"Do you have the number of a local taxi service?"

"I can drive you home."

"Oh you don't have to."

"I'd like to. I don't mind." He shoves his hands into his pockets. "I was just going to go for a walk today, clear the cobwebs, you know. I can run you home."

"Thank you. I appreciate that." She places a hand to the base of her neck, "I think I had something on."

"You did." He swallows, remembering his hand on her breast as she took the chain off and laid it on his bedside table. "I'll go get it," he offers.

* * *

Her house isn't far, perhaps a fifteen-minute drive. They have a mutual moan about the rain and the state of the flooding around the country as he drives; Charles shares with her stories of storms from when he worked abroad and before he's ready to do so he's pulled up out outside her house.

"This is it, home." She says, reaching into the backseat for her handbag.

"Looks nice. You've extended?" He says, noting the section above the garage.

"My company runs from here, that bit," she waves her hand at it. "I converted the garage."

"Of course you did," he smiles, remembering what she said from last night.

"It's cheaper than hiring offices. And I don't have to walk far when I finish late."

He nods, things seem awkward now, and it had all been so easy until now. He stares down the street at the rain hammering down.

"Your walk looks scuppered." She observes.

"It does," he shrugs, "I'll find an old film to watch. Stay warm."

"Good plan."

"Enjoy your time with your friends."

"Thank you." She leans forward, kisses his cheek, "happy new year, Charles. Thank you for a lovely night."

He does nothing but smile in return, hands clutching the steering wheel, but as she's opening the car door he suddenly stops her with a hand on her back.

"Wait. Your number, I don't have your number."

She sits back, smiling enigmatically at him. "Oh?"

"I'd like to call you, take you out to dinner sometime." He feels incredibly nervous asking; if she says no he'll feel like shit for the rest of the day. The rest of the week. He really likes her, and he suspects she likes him, but then he's been known to misread situations.

She shuts the door and holds her hand out, "Where's your phone?"

He digs in his jacket pocket, handing it across and watching as she adds herself to his contacts.

"There you go."

"Thanks."

"And now I really do have to go." She squeezes his arm, "Sorry."

"It's fine. Bye."

"Bye." She shuts the car door and he watches as she runs up the drive to her porch. He glances to his phone and the number she's entered, wondering how long it's polite to leave it before he makes a date with her. 07782… he laughs suddenly, looking toward the house she's just entered, she's put her number under the name _One Night Stand_. He's not sure if she means that ironically or not but he leaves it, it's made him smile, she's made him smile and he likes her style. She's sassy. Independent. And, he suspects, challenging.

* * *

Unfolding her legs and shifting to her knees Elsie groaned as her back creaked.

"What you been getting up to?" Beryl asked, watching her across the table.

"Nothing. Just sat in a funny angle." She feels Isobel staring at her and rolls her eyes, "Just deal the cards Beryl."

"Not still shagging that young lad, are you?"

"He's hardly seventeen."

"In his thirties, isn't he?" Isobel adds, refilling all of their glasses.

"He's Anna's age, it's not that far from mine."

Beryl chuckles, "Yeah, you tell yourself that."

"Oh piss off, I haven't seen him in four months anyhow." She takes her glass from Isobel, taking a large gulp of wine.

"What we talking about?"

"That young thing Elsie was shagging."

"I wish you'd stop saying that, Beryl." She snatches her cards.

"Tom?" Anna sits on the floor beside Elsie. "He was a fine looking, don't blame you."

"It's fine and dandy for an older man to have a young woman but when an older woman does the same…" Elsie said, waving her glass about. "She's called an old slapper."

"How many men you slept with in the past year?" Beryl asked pointedly. "I'll start – one, my husband. Anna?"

"Oh fuck… how embarrassing," she leant against Elsie's side, "four, I think."

"You think…" Beryl tutted. "Isobel?" She asked, pointing at her. "Come on. Honesty."

"One," Isobel says, her eyes closed.

"Ah! One!" Beryl is excitable and on her knees now. "Please tell us it's that handsome Doctor that's hankered after you for years."

"We saw that nod," Anna laughs, "Yes! Confirmation!"

"Don't you go telling a soul, we're taking it slowly. It's very awkward, what with him working at the surgery and…" she smiles.

"Oh love, you like him?" Beryl says, touching Isobel's arm softly.

"Maybe. But let's move on… Elsie, how many for you?"

"Three." She says confidently. "Just three."

"Slow year for you, honey," Beryl teases.

"Bugger off. I'm getting older, things have slowed down in that department."

"You can still sit on men's knees though," Isobel quipped.

"Oh?" Beryl drawled, "Whose knee?"

"Nothing. Shut up. I didn't 'sit' on his knee, I was _pushed_ onto his knee."

"And I bet he rather enjoyed it." Anna smiled, laying down her bet for the game. "You're the hottest one out of us four."

"I resent that," Beryl said, throwing in her bet. "You have no idea what I can do in the bedroom."

"Oh god, I don't think we want to know." Elsie teased, taking another drink of her wine.

"That's true Bez, but if anyone asked me to play _cruise, shag and marry_ out of you three, I know how I'd vote." Anna proclaimed.

"Go on, the big reveal." Elsie laughed.

"I'm too old for this." Isobel sat back, crossing her legs.

"Well, I'd marry Beryl for sure because you two can't cook for shit."

"Ha!" Beryl high-fived Anna over the table.

"I'd cruise with Isobel because she speaks four languages and has the best table manners."

"True." Beryl agreed.

"And I'd shag the hell out of Els because I bet she's a right goer in the bedroom."

"And doesn't mind if you don't call her after!" Beryl said and all of the women laughed.

"Bitches." Elsie huffed, refilling their glasses again as her doorbell sounded.

"You order food?" Isobel asked.

"Nope. Probably my bloody neighbour again, his kids keep throwing their football over my fence."

She got to her feet; stumbling over the pillows they were sitting on as she made her way towards the hall.

"Drunken old fool," Beryl chuckled.

"Greetings!" Elsie sang as she swung open the front door.

"Hello." Charles said amused.

"Oh?" She gripped the door, standing straight. "Hello."

"Sorry, I thought…" he was holding a bunch of red roses, the rain pouring behind him. "I'm sorry, I thought you'd be free."

"It's… come in…" she stepped back from the door, "you're getting soaked."

"Sorry."

"Stop saying that, I'll get you a towel, you _are_ soaked."

"Charles?" Isobel asked as she came out of the lounge.

He hid the roses behind his back, suddenly feeling very foolish, very cliché.

"What are you doing here?" She was smiling broadly, a glass of wine in one hand, casting sly looks towards Elsie as she made her way down towards them.

"I erm thought she said she had friends this afternoon, not evening. I got confused."

Elsie folded her arms across her chest, "They came over five, that's still afternoon."

His shoulders sagged, he'd annoyed her. "Look I'm sorry, I didn't mean to barge in and interrupt this…"

"Don't be silly," Isobel touched his arm, "get your coat off, come and have a drink with four inebriated women. I'll get you a glass." She pushed past Elsie, deliberately elbowing her in the side as she did so.

"I've made a fool of myself," he said to her, handing the flowers across.

She exhaled slowly, then smiled, he was terribly sweet, "The flowers were a nice thought," she leant in to kiss his cheek. "Thank you. Why don't you go dry yourself off in the bathroom and I'll put these in water."

"Yeah," he nodded, feeling nervous all of a sudden. Funny how none of his propriety training was kicking in.

"There's a downstairs bathroom just along there," she pointed down the short hall, "last door."

"Thanks."

In the kitchen Isobel was waiting, a vase on the side and a new bottle of wine waiting to join them in the lounge.

"I bloody knew you'd gone home with him," she whispered.

"Don't start. It wasn't planned, just happened."

"He's a nice man."

"I'm not so blind that I don't realise that." She was haphazardly sticking the roses into the vase until Isobel took them from her and took over. "Look, I didn't know he was going to turn up here tonight, I thought it was just a one-off thing, you know, drunken New Year's Eve – which I haven't done in a very long time so don't moan at me."

"Was he one of your three?"

"What?"

"You said you slept with three men last year, was he one of them?"

Elsie nodded, "Though technically I slept with him after midnight, didn't I? Forgot that. So, two last year and he's my first of this!" She said. "See, that's not many. _Good for me_ – is that what you're about to say?"

Isobel shook her head, "You know I've never judged you. I love you. You're wonderful. And screw what people think, you're single, you have no children, no ties, you do what you like, I get that. I support that."

"But?"

"But… be nice to him."

"When am I mean?"

"You're not _mean_ , you're just…" Isobel stopped and stared at her friend. "You're lovely, you really are Els. And he's a nice man."

"Stop saying that."

"I'm saying it because it's about time you had someone nice."

"All of my men are nice! Tom was hardly nasty."

"No, but you went out with him on occasion and had sex, that's not a relationship – it's company."

"Oh you and your 'relationships', they aren't all they're cracked up to be."

"Maybe give it…" they paused as someone coughed discreetly outside the door.

"Sorry, I ur, I didn't want to just wander in there…"

"Lion's den," Isobel smiled. She picked up the bottle of wine and the extra glass. "Nice flowers, Charles." She said as she passed him at the door, glaring at Elsie as she walked away.

"Have I caused issues?"

"No." Elsie snapped, then her voice softened, "No. Not you. I'm the issue. As usual." She looked at the flowers again; Isobel had done a good job.

"Do you want me to go?"

"No, I don't want you to go. Come on, let's go have a drink and win money off the others at cards."

"I'm rubbish at cards, I can't bluff."

She squeezed his arm as she passed him, "I can."

* * *

He remains on the sofa long after the women have gone. Silently watching as Elsie clears the table and rearranges her lounge: the cards are packed away in the drawer beneath the coffee table; oversized pillows are stacked along the sofas and lipstick stained glasses are placed in the dishwasher.

When she returns to the lounge he's staring up at her expectantly, hands resting on his knees.

She sighs heavily, leaning against the doorframe, "I'm knackered."

"You're beautiful."

She rolls her eyes, "I'm an old soak, apparently." She laughs rubbing her forehead; she's used to being the butt of her friend's jokes about promiscuity, but for some reason it stung tonight.

"I don't think so."

She finally turns her full attention to him, "So. You were at a loose end on New Year's Day?"

"New Year's Day _evening_ really."

"Oh, we're being specific."

"I'm sorry if I embarrassed you."

"I'm not embarrassed. I wasn't. I've done worse, believe me."

"Worse than sleep with an old codger like me, you mean?"

"I didn't say that." She stepped towards him, bending in front of him, placing her hands on top of his. "Please don't beat yourself up over me, I'm not worth it."

He swallowed, licked his lips nervously as he looked at her hands on his, "The thing is, I couldn't stop thinking about you."

"Don't –,"

"I mean it. I sound foolish saying it, but I mean it. I thought about you all day – and I'm not saying that to… I mean, I don't want you to feel uncomfortable. It was just," he shrugged, "just how it was. And I was sitting there tonight in my empty flat thinking of you and just wondering why I couldn't just call, so I did, but it went to voicemail and then I started to think 'well, maybe go over' and I suppose I sort of convinced myself to do just that."

"Oh," she said softly, staring at him, he looked so forlorn. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"You don't have to say anything. I've been rejected before."

"I'm not rejecting you. You haven't asked me anything – I mean, we haven't, we're just… we just spent the night together, one night, and it was pretty fantastic and I think that's why you thought of me all day. Nothing more."

"Maybe. I don't know. I have been on my own a lot, it was nice to have some company."

She smiled, biting down on her lip.

"Oh, I didn't meant to make that sound like you were just…"

"Shut up." She got back up to her feet. "Come on."

"Where are we going?"

"Bed. It's late and I'm tired and I'm guessing that's half the reason you came over."

"I wasn't presuming…" He started to say.

"No. Of course not." She rolled her eyes.

She stepped back as he got to his feet, his knees creaking as he did so.

"Just how tall are you?" She asked, hands on hips as she looked up at him.

"Not sure, 6.1, 6.2, shrinking probably. Used to seem taller."

"Charles, really. I'm 5, 5 and clearly a midget next to you. In fact I bet," she stepped forward, pressing her chest against his. "Look, you can rest your chin on my head."

"You're a little bit crazy, aren't you?"

"I prefer to think of myself as 'special'." She stepped back again when his hands rested on her hips and he laughed warmly.

"You're still beautiful."

"You don't have to flatter me. I'm not that kind of woman."

"Oh, I know that."

"Do you?" she pursed her lips, "How?"

"Intuition. You don't suffer fools."

"As Eddie Izzard would say, 'who does?'" She laughed at herself.

"I have no idea what that means."

"Never mind." She was still chuckling.

"Two days ago I didn't even know you existed."

"And the world was a better, simpler place?" She laughed again, taking hold of his hand. "Don't make things complicated, Charles."

"I over complicate most things."

She chewed lip again, "Simple things are usually better."

She stepped away from him, switching off the main lights in the lounge, "So, are you coming up or not because I'm suddenly so tired I could sleep standing up?"

* * *

Somehow, there was something different this time. Barely twenty-four hours later. Where the previous night they'd both been very drunk and uninhibited because of it, tonight they were almost shy, and tender because of that.

Her bedroom was spacious and light, filled with the crisp darkness of January. The sharp edges the month brought, the endless hours, the loneliness seeping out of every pore.

And these two people, in their fifties and alone and used to it and accepting of it. The product of an endless January.

When she rolled onto her back he moves gracefully over her, slow and gentle, finding something in her he's searched for his entire life but is too scared to admit. He's hankered so long after a love he thought had been cruelly snatched from him by his friend that he can't quite allow himself to step over the line and into the oblivion she seems to be offering him.

For her, this is a moment of weakness in her usual manicured and organised life. She doesn't share easily. She doesn't give in without a fight – at anything. And yet here she is, inviting him into her bed, willingly parting her legs for him, wrapping herself around him – arms, legs – her mouth never leaving his.

And their bodies are so in-tune already. So still. Everything is still. It seeps inside their trembling limbs bringing tranquillity. It's something neither has known.

He stretches his hand out above hers on the pillow, seeking something. And she reaches for his, folding her fingers with his as she feels her body climax beneath his, calling his name where last night she simply moaned her pleasure.

He's adorning her chest with kisses, and she feels lucid and fine as he does so.

When he finally moves from her, reluctantly, despite the late hour and his tired body, she shifts onto her side facing him on the pillow.

"Hello," he whispers.

Her eyes are closed but she's smiling and she indulges him. "Hello."

"You don't like this," he observes, his voice light, playful.

"What?"

"Sharing your bed."

"True."

"Which side?"

"Which side where?"

"Which side do you prefer, so I don't impose, make you uncomfortable, interrupt your sleep."

"You're teasing me."

"Role reversal from last night."

"Mmm. I like the side I'm on, but I usually face the other way."

"Okay. I won't take offence when you turn your back on me."

She chuckles into the pillow.

"Unless you'd prefer me to dress and leave, scuttle out in the early hours of the morning, in the rain…"

"Shut up. Go to sleep."

He smiles, watching her for a moment, "Have dinner with me," he finally says, his arm is above her head on the pillow and he tangles his fingers into the ends of her hair.

"Now?"

"You know what I mean. Let me take you out."

"I won't be here for a while."

"Oh?" He feels his stomach drop.

"I'm thinking of branching out, buying properties near other popular universities."

"So, you're going to look at them?"

"Yes. I'm driving to Liverpool tomorrow." She opens her eyes, blinks in the darkness. "Could be gone three weeks, maybe less, maybe more, depends how it goes and what I see. I'm going to take the opportunity to visit friends as I'm travelling about."

"Oh." He says again, crestfallen. "Can I call you?"

She frowns, "Whilst I'm away?"

"Well, yes."

"Why would you want to?"

"Why do you think?" He chuckles, "to chat to you. I have rather enjoyed talking to you, Elsie, as well as… all this."

" _All this_." She teases, imitating his voice.

"Okay, okay, I'm an idiot. But you seem surprised by that, that I'd want to talk to you."

"I'm just... Let's say I'm not used to it, I can't think what we'd have to say to each other."

"You'll tell me about your trip and the properties you've seen –,"

"And you'll be interested in that?"

"Of course, because you are."

That simple statement catches her off guard and she feels her chest tighten. This is so quick. So unexpected. She keeps thinking of Isobel's warning to _be nice_ and she wonders if she's quite cut out for thinking of somebody else.

"I'm not going to smother you, if that's what you're worried about." He says, as if reading her mind. "I just want to get to know you. More than this."

"More than _this_ …" she repeats again, closing her eyes.

"Yes. Although this, of course, has been quite a wonderful start."

She smirks, "Oh, I'm sure."

"What if I just text?" He feels excited, almost jubilant, at the fact he's getting to spend a second night with her. At he fact he's spent the majority of the first day of the year with her.

"Charles…" she groans, feeling exhausted.

"Just this, then I'll sleep, I promise. I'm not much of a texter but I can, I'm just slow. I could text instead of calling, not too intrusive."

She burrows down in the pillow, "Yes. Texting is fine. Calling will be okay."

"Will you call me?"

"When?"

"When you get home? So we can arrange dinner."

She's almost asleep, falling forward against his chest. "Yes. I'll call."


	4. Chapter 4

_**Hi all, and thank you for all the lovely reviews - now I finally get to read them! They've been really encouraging and I've enjoyed reading them.**_

 _ **What I liked about this was getting to see how forward-thinking Elsie and bumbling Charles would interact in 2015/6. Plus, if you know me, the whole issue around sexual politics and gender-stereotypes.**_

 ** _Not sure if there'll be another chapter as it was just meant as a pic-response but I've loved writing it._**

* * *

 **Chapter 4 – Wednesday January 20** **th**

Beer at lunch was a luxury Charles Carson would never have entertained during his years serving. In fact having lunch at all could have been considered a luxury, given that most days he worked right through.

He enjoyed a slower pace of life now. He met with friends, he read the latest releases, he visited the theatre. A far cry from his years in domestic service when a night off was a rarity.

The pub was a nice choice and he was grateful to Robert for suggesting it. The early rains of January had ceased, thankfully, but for the flood wrecked towns and cities it would take longer to forget it than a week of dry English weather. In its place came the winter frost, which had been lacking all festive season, and Charles was glad of the roaring fire, and admiring of the landlord's dog that slept on the rug before it.

"You're happy."

"Why do you say that?"

"You're smiling."

"And that's surprising to you?"

Robert rolled his eyes sarcastically.

"Alright, alright. I'm not _that_ much of a miserable old codger."

"Fifty-six isn't old at all, not these days. You just like to pretend you're old."

"It befitted the job title."

"So, what's put a sparkle in your eye, you met someone?"

"Why must it be a woman?"

"It's either a woman or money, and seeing as you still won't agree to come skiing with us -,"

"Now that's because I hate snow, I hate mountains and I have the balancing skills of Bambi. Not because of money."

"Sit in the cabin, drink schnapps. And how can you 'hate' mountains?"

"I just do and I can sit here and drink good old English beer."

Robert laughed, "This is why we're friends. So…"

"So?"

" _So_ , who is it?"

Charles' mouth twisted into a smile, "Elsie."

"Elsie…?" Robert's eyes widened as realisation dawned, " _Elsie?!_ As in the Elsie who is Isobel's friend?"

"Yes, her. We met at your party."

Robert suddenly laughed heartily.

"What? Don't laugh. It isn't meant to be amusing."

"It's just… all these years and you've surprised me. You're usually so slow-moving about decisions it's painful. It took you four months to decide which new television to buy. Technology had moved on in the time."

"Bugger off."

"So did you err…" Robert leant forward whispering, "…on New Year's Eve?"

Charles took a drink of his beer instead of answering.

"You did, didn't you?! You dirty dog!"

"Shut up."

Robert continued to laugh, "And she's a bit…" he waggled his eyebrows, "isn't she?"

"I don't know what you're referring to."

"Well, Cora says she's one of those…" he noted the look on Charles' face and he quickly amended his statement, "…feminist types. Miss Independent."

"You're so old fashioned it's painful. And that's saying something coming from me."

"Likes her younger men, doesn't she?"

Charles sat back, crossing his arms over his belly as he glared at Robert, "She seemed happy enough."

"Ha! You _are_ a dirty dog! You seeing her again?"

"She's away at the moment, actually. Has been for a couple of weeks, but when she gets back, yes, hopefully. And don't make me out a monk – I've had my fair share of dalliances over the years."

"Oh, I know that, I wasn't suggesting that you were."

"There's just," he sighed, "well, there's no point continuing a relationship when you've moved to a different country, is there?"

"Not at all, I guess, but all of that was just…" Robert stopped himself. "Never mind."

"Never mind, _what_? It was what?"

"Alice. It was to forget her, wasn't it?"

Charles grumbled to himself, finishing off the dregs of his beer and muttering into his glass, "Stupid fool that I was."

"You were just a kid."

"Nineteen when I met her, can you believe that, nineteen! And thinking we were building something, going somewhere, taking my time like some doe-eyed fool and then she…" he spun his glass on the table, "fucking my best friend on the sofa."

Robert licked his lips, "Seemed to put you off women for life."

Charles shrugged, "I wasn't put off them, I just never met one who made me feel like Alice did. Maybe that's why I…"

"Why you what?"

"Nothing. Couldn't forget her. Just that."

"But you're still friends, you've managed to be."

"It was a long time ago. Look, I've got to go," he reached to the back of his chair for his jacket, "thanks for lunch, I needed the break. Today is my 'figures' today, I'm drowning in excel documents."

"I feel your pain."

* * *

Charles took a long walk back, he was the boss after all, there was nobody to chastise him for getting back at 14:00 rather than 13:00. And besides, he needed the fresh air; it would clear his head after the beer and the heady fire.

Alice. Just mention of the woman's name caused an array of emotions to resurface in him. Never the same ones, mind.

He'd carried a torch for her for so many years he couldn't quite work out when his attraction turned to love to resentment to jealousy to regret to lust and finally guilt. Whichever emotion it was she managed to draw it out of him, like some worm being drawn only to find itself hanging off the edge of a line and staring down at inevitable death.

Thirty months ago now, to the day – he wondered when he'd stop thinking of it in terms of weeks and months – a Wednesday, October, Halloween. And Charlie was working nights and Alice was lonely. Their children grown and long gone and her days of being useful had passed, her evenings of being exhausted gone. Children always grow and leave and what's left behind?

Charles. A phone call away.

And he'd gone, as he always did, because she held him in the palm of her hand, even after all those years, those miles and miles of ocean. He still came back, didn't he? Wondering just what he'd missed out on by letting Charlie have her, backing off like the polite gentleman he was.

Not so polite when he found himself with his trousers around his ankles on her lounge floor.

The memory still made him stop and curse: his skin crawling over itself as he swallowed, metallic, bile. And it took that to realise he'd wasted thirty years on something that was nothing but fakery and dreams. Smoke and mirrors.

He shook the thought away as he did every time it wove itself back into his conscience, an annoyance, like when he exited a restaurant after a gorgeous meal and some smoker puffed away, filling his lungs with poison.

Instead he thought of Elsie. It had been five days since he'd heard from her. He'd texted about the sudden drop in temperatures and asked how she was finding the driving cross-country in the ice. She'd replied she was fine and sounded excited about three houses she'd seen in Cardiff. He had no idea she was going to be travelling so far, but then she had no need to tell him, they owed each other nothing, technically they _were_ nothing to each other. He hardly knew her. She hardly knew him. Two glorious nights and breakfasts together does not a relationship make.

But maybe. In time. And that thought warmed him.

Besides he was attending some charity thing on Friday night for the local surgery. Isobel was hosting it to raise money and he'd wangled an invite – local businessman as he was, of sorts. He liked the idea that he was going to be there in the company of her friends, and after his gate crashing on New Year's Day they'd be more open to talking to him about her, perhaps. Maybe he could glean information about her from them. Find her likes, dislikes, how to woo her… was that still a phrase people used, _woo_? He laughed at himself and turned down the street towards his office.

* * *

 **Friday 22** **nd** **January**

Elsie was exhausted. The point of exhaustion where you're not quite sure if your head is still connected to your shoulders or if your eyes are working correctly.

She'd not even been home five hours, and her head hadn't stopped spinning since she'd returned. Countless correspondence to catch up on and silly office spats to ease over. The excitement of her trip and the properties she'd sourced was rapidly fading.

She was looking forward to her bed, her pyjamas and perhaps – if she really pushed the boat out – a hot water bottle.

Instead she was dolled up in a sparkly midnight blue dress and heels that pinched her toes, and emptying her office drawer searching for the gift vouchers she'd managed to wangle from local businesses for Isobel's event months ago. There was a point mid-week she didn't think she'd make it, but somehow she'd raced back and was now waiting for her taxi to arrive.

She sat on the arm of the sofa rubbing at her heel contemplating squashing some tissue down there and hoping it might ease the soreness. She felt weary and not in the least attractive. Anna had done her hair, bless her, before she left to get ready herself. She was bringing this new guy she'd been seeing, John something-or-other. Elsie thought he looked a bit of a bad boy in the photo Anna had showed her on her phone, but who was she to judge? She'd known her fair share of bad boys too.

When the horn of the taxi went she dragged herself up, switched off the lamp in the lounge and grabbed her things from the hall table, taking one last look in the mirror as she went. Knowing her luck she'd probably slip on the icy drive as she left and rip her bloody dress. It was a bargain in the January sale (£100 off!) but still… it was it's first outing.

"Come on love, hurry up." Tom said, as she opened the back door and climbed into the taxi. "Freezing out there."

"Tell me about it." She slammed the door shut. "Hi."

"Hi."

They both leant forward and kissed the other's cheek.

"Looking gorgeous."

"But feeling knackered," she said as she sat back.

"So, how did it go? You find anything?"

"I did. It was pretty exciting actually," she smiled, "exhausting but exciting. I only expected to find one or two in the same area but I think there could be potential for many more. I'm considering going to the bank, taking a risk and branching out big style."

"Hark at you, business lady 2016."

She shrugged, "I figure I've got ten more years doing this, if I want to retire early and enjoy myself. Make the most of it. And when are you going to come and work for me?" She asked, nudging his arm.

"You can't afford me babe."

"I bet I could. So, what terrible things have you been up to whilst I've been gone, break any hearts…or beds?"

"Not many. Oh, but I did acquaint myself with the new girl who's started in our building. Sybil, pretty horrendous name but gorgeous ass. Seems the feisty sort though, gave her my whole line about the Ferrari and she never even blinked."

"Losing your touch."

"I've not given up yet. You? Any conquests whilst you were away or were you a good girl?"

"I'm _always_ a good girl. But no," she glanced out of the window as the taxi pulled up. "No conquests." He said quietly.

Tom held the door open for her, "Nice dress."

"I got it in the sale whilst I was away."

"Time to shop then?"

" _Always_ time to shop." She smirked.

He slid his hand down her back and pinched her bottom.

"Now, now, behave. This is a modest party, not one of your raucous affairs."

"I can play the part." He said, taking her arm as they navigated the icy pathway to the entrance. "That's why you agreed to come with me, isn't it?"

"That and I'm afraid I might be asleep in my soup if I don't have you to keep me awake."

* * *

Elsie was just about to help herself to a glass of wine when somebody grabbed her arm and pulled her sharply into the corner.

"Oh, what the hell Izzy? That hurt?" She rubbed her arm, "What's wrong, I have the vouchers for the raffle, don't worry." She fussed around in her bag locating them.

"That's not what I want you for, what are you doing?"

"Well I was just about to get a drink – nice to see you too, by the way, _thanks for attending Elsie despite being exhausted after three weeks away_."

"Why have you brought him?" She jerked her chin towards Tom.

"Oh, don't start. I didn't bring him, he already had an invite, you must have seen to that. He called me last night and asked if I was coming so we got a taxi together. That's all. Why does it – ,"

"Charles is here."

"Charles?" Her eyes flashed brighter for a second.

"Yes. I invited as many local businessmen as possible. And he runs a respectable business."

Elsie bit down on her lip to try and hide her smile; she was glad he was there; she'd enjoyed his texts whilst she'd been away, the communication, the attention.

"I'd forgotten about Tom." Isobel sighed. "Just don't…"

"What?" Elsie shook her head, straining her neck round to scan the room, "I don't intend to _do_ anything, I'm far too tired. I'm going to mingle, be polite, eat my meal and slope off when I can." She kissed Izzy's cheek, "So don't be offended if I don't actually make it to the raffle."

"I won't be."

"Trip went well by the way."

Isobel smiled, "As if we expected any different." She squeezed her friend's arm, "We'll have lunch in a couple of days, shall we, then you can fill us all in on it?"

"I'd like that. Where's Beryl, anyhow, did she cater?"

"Of course."

"Good. Decent food." Elsie said, she was starving; she hadn't eaten all day apart from a Nutri-grain bar in the car with a take-away coffee as she drove.

"She's in the kitchen, last minute checks."

"I'll go say hello. Good luck, ring them dry!"

* * *

Charles was late. And he hated being late. He was hoping he could just creep in and nobody notice because he really didn't want to explain the reason for his lateness… that he'd fallen asleep on his sofa watching the six-o'clock news and woke up in a panic when he heard the beat to the Eastenders theme tune.

He'd not even had time for a shower. Had quickly got his suit on and grabbed his wallet and keys before heading out.

He regretted now not bringing a coat, it was freezing out but he'd been in such a rush he'd forgotten.

His cheeks were ruddy and his nose frozen by the time he got inside, luckily people were still mulling about before dinner and he was able to get to the bar without being spotted and order a large brandy. He'd have to be on juice for the rest of the night (fool for driving) but he needed the warmth.

Turning to face the assembled guests, he sipped his drink and smiled as he saw Robert and Cora laughing with Doctor Clarkson; the old Doctor was looking good, no doubt, he suspected, due to his flourishing friendship with Isobel. He thought it still gossip but Robert had confirmed there was definitely something going on.

He stepped forward instinctively when he recognised the soft, Scottish accent that had allured him so on the last day of 2015. Turning, left, right, he finally spotted her, a glass of wine in her hand, giggling away at something somebody was saying. She was there. He didn't realise she'd be there. He wondered when she'd got back – she'd promised to call him – but he wasn't concerned with that now, only with seeing her.

She looked stunning, he thought as he made his way across to her, the dress fit her perfectly, the colour gorgeous, the v of her back bare to him and he longed to touch her skin.

And then he stopped. A man moved beside her, a young man, laughing with her, and his hand hovered for a minute near her back, his index finger touching her skin. Then he was gone again, taking away Elsie's empty glass and leaving her continuing to chat to the others there. A young pretty blonde girl and a dark, burly looking man.

Something rose in his chest and he stomped across, downing the rest of his brandy and leaving his glass on a passing waiter's tray.

"Hello," he said by her ear, his hand flat on her back, pressing heavily against her and then sweeping around, over her hip, around her waist and tugging her back against him.

She jolted somewhat, surprised by somebody suddenly groping her.

Still, somehow she remained smiling, polite as she turned her head and greeted him, "Good evening." She leant forward trying to loosen herself from his grip but his hand was tight on her.

"You didn't tell me you were back," he whispered, then turned to the people with her. "Evening," he held his free hand out, "Charles Carson."

Elsie watched as they exchanged pleasantries, wiggling against him to try and free herself from his grasp – _what on earth was he doing?_

"Here you go, love, champagne." Tom said as he returned, handing Elsie a glass. "Oh, who's this?" He grinned, noting the awkward way Elsie was being held.

"Charles Carson." Charles said lowly.

"A friend I met," Elsie said, finally yanking herself free from his grasp. "At Robert's New Year's Eve party."

"I'm still sorry I missed that." Tom said.

"No you aren't," Anna teased, "you were in Vegas instead!"

"Oh yes, so I was."

They all turned as a gong was rung, "Dinner is served."

"Great, I'm starving." Tom turned towards the dining room entrance, "come on, let's find our table."

"Wait," Charles tugged Elsie's elbow, sending her champagne over the rim of the glass and down her hand.

"What are you? Oh look, now." She scrabbled about in her handbag for a tissue. "Stop tugging at me."

"You didn't tell me you'd be here." Charles said, people pushing past them to get into the dining hall.

"I didn't know," she was bent over, brushing droplets of champagne from her skirt. "Bugger it. First wear."

"I'll have it dry cleaned," he said, gripping her elbow again, "Elsie, stop."

"I want to get to my seat before the starter is served." She started moving forward. "Before Izzy's speech."

"I want to talk to you," he said, going after her.

"Not now." She pulled away from his grasp, "Later."

He stood stock still for a moment as the remaining guests passed him and went to find their tables, watching as she scanned the seating plan and then turned back to look at him, biting down on her lip.

"You're with Robert," she pointed her hand, "over there."

"I'm over here." She pointed in the other direction. "After dinner?"

He nodded, digging his hands into his pockets. He feared he'd behaved like a jerk, made a fool of both of them…either that or she was making a fool out of him with some younger guy. But then they weren't together; they'd made no promises to each other. Maybe he was making a fool of himself.

* * *

Dinner came and went. It was good but Charles suddenly wasn't feeling quite so hungry. He found himself spending his entire night searching the room for Elsie, and once located, he watched her – he watched who she was with, who she spoke to, how often she laughed, if she ate, what she drank. It was ridiculous and he hated himself for it, but he couldn't help himself. He longed to be the one sitting beside her, to have her lean in to him and whisper something, to be the one resting his arm across the back of her chair.

When the raffle started he excused himself from the table, disappeared into the bathroom and splashed his face with cold water. By the time he re-emerged people were exiting the dinner hall, and he pushed along with them, standing by the bar again and ordering another orange juice.

He spotted Isobel by the door, Elsie and Beryl with her; they were hugging their friend congratulations and then the man who he'd seen with her earlier – the one touching Elsie – reappeared with her coat. He kissed the other two women goodnight before heading outside with her.

Charles bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood. _She was going home with him?_

* * *

Stretching her arms above her head Elsie felt her spine, tight from being in the car for so long, unfurl. Every muscle ached and if it weren't for the fact she feared she'd drown from exhaustion she would have taken a long bath.

Moving to the sink, she filled the kettle and took a mug out for herself. Camomile tea, and bed.

"Freeze my bollocks off out there," Tom said as he came in from the back yard and shut the door.

"And my fence?"

"Yeah, I think you're going to need a new one. Few of the panels are bent beyond repair – be that wind we had the other night." He turned off her torch and placed it back in the drawer by the door.

"Bloody thing, another job I'll have to do."

"Get one of your minions to do it."

"My two 'minions' work in my office, they don't have to fix my house, only the ones we rent out."

"Mmm," he took off his jacket, laying it over a chair at the kitchen table. "Mind if I help myself to a drink?"

"You know where it is, help yourself." She finished making her tea.

She was leaning against the table when Tom reappeared with a measure of whisky, his tie undone, shirt collar open.

"Seems to have done well, Izzy, raising money for the surgery."

"She did. I'm proud of her, she's such a good host though."

"She is," he put his glass down on the side, moving closer to Elsie, "like someone else I know." He leant in to kiss her, his hands on the table either side of her body.

Smiling he took her mug from her hand, placing it on the table a distance away from them. And now he kissed her properly, his hands on her face to begin with, and then stroking down her side, lifting her up until she was perched on the edge of the table. He was good at this, knew her well, and his hands quickly moved to rest on her knees, parting her legs as he opened her mouth with his.

Elsie pressed her knees tight together; her hands on his chest as she pushed him back from her.

"I'm not really in the mood for that tonight." She said softly.

"Oh."

She knew what that meant, he'd be gone inside five minutes and that was fine, it was probably what she wanted – to be alone.

"Sorry."

"No issue. It's just casual." He said, reaching for his whisky and finishing it off.

She remained sitting on the table watching him, he was so very handsome, and so much fun to be around, they always got on well, always had fun.

"Friends, though?" She asked.

"Of course. Always. You know that."

She nodded. It was the first time she could recall inviting him in and then not sleeping with him – what a turnaround, and last year apart from him there'd only been one other man, a forty-something banker who she'd dated for a few months before it fizzled out. Maybe Beryl's teasing was right; maybe she was slowing down, finding the game boring. Either that or she was going off sex, which, given her actions with Charles, seemed unlikely.

Tom kissed her goodnight in the hallway and she turned off the lights, made her way back to the kitchen; her tea was lukewarm so she'd make a fresh one and dig out that water bottle she had to keep her warm.

There was a knock at the door before she'd even filled the kettle. She hoped it wasn't Tom back, she didn't want to have an awkward conversation with him, in fact she didn't want to have a conversation with anyone tonight. She wanted a cup of tea, her pyjamas and her bed. She felt very tired, very confused and a little let down, all being said.

Running a hand through her hair she switched the hall light on again and opened the door to find a rather red-faced Charles staring wide-eyed at her.

"What are you doing here?"

"I waited…" He rubbed his face, embarrassed.

"You waited?" Her brow furrowed momentarily. "Oh my god, you mean you _waited outside_ until Tom was gone?" She was shaking her head as she stepped back into the hall and he followed her in. "Oh my god," she muttered, "you can't do that. You can't…"

"I know." He shut the door behind him. "Don't get angry or freak out or anything."

"Freak out! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Did you have sex with him?" He blurted out, desperate.

"What?" She turned to face him, incredulous.

"I need to know, Elsie."

" _You_ need to know. Who are you to know my business? You don't know me!"

"I need to know if you had sex with him."

"It's none of your business who I do or don't have sex with..." she waved her hand at him.

"Please." He stepped closer, interrupting her, his eyes wide and dark, he was trembling and she noticed how he folded his hands together to try and stop himself.

"No." She looked to the floor, shook her head. "No, I didn't have sex with him."

She heard him sigh in relief and then she looked up again. "You can't do this, waiting outside my house, smothering me."

"I know that. But I can't stop thinking about you."

"Charles." She dismissed the statement with a wave of her hand.

"I can't. You're always there," he tapped the side of his head with his fist, "always up here. You've done something to me. Had some effect."

She stepped back from him again, turning her back to him, "I can't hear this… You don't own me Charles."

"I know that."

"Then don't grab me, don't stand there holding onto my waist like you're staking your claim. And then sitting outside my house! Watching!"

"I know… you make me sound a stalker."

"You're behaving like one!"

"Oh come on, it's not like I'm sitting out there jerking off like some sad bastard."

"Well, halfway there, give it time."

He stared at her open-mouthed, shook his head and she felt guilty for that.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

"You said you'd call me when you got home."

"And I _just_ got home! I got home at 3:15 this afternoon. I rushed around my office catching up, I showered, I got dressed I went to Isobel's thing because I promised her I'd be there and she's my friend."

"And you turn up with some kid."

"Fuck you!" She spat at him, suddenly very angry at his presumption, "it'd be a bloody different matter if you attended with some 36 year old hot woman, wouldn't it, slaps on the back from the lads – jeering and cheering. But because it's an older woman it's disgusting. Well fuck you. I don't need your judgement. We're not together Charles, you don't own me."

She stomped away from him, retreating to the kitchen, shaking – she wasn't quite sure if it was out of anger or hurt.

For a moment he stood in the silence of the hall reflecting on what the both of them had said. He had the option – her front door was right there, he could go, forget about her, remember those wonderful two nights and leave it at that. Or he could fight this out, swallow his pride and apologise for coming on too strong.

It took barely three seconds for the choice to be made and he followed her to the kitchen.

She was pouring a measure of whisky, a large one; it wasn't until she stepped back from the table that he saw there were two glasses.

"Here," she said, handing him one.

He cradled his glass as she knocked hers back in one.

"I'm sorry," he finally said, "I didn't meant to scare you. And I certainly don't judge you, believe me, if it were any other woman there with a younger man tonight then fair play to them, live and let live. But it was you and I was… I _am_ … jealous, even though I have no right because you're right, we aren't together, there are no ties between us. I'm not stupid. But somehow the thought of him being in here with you, touching you – it drove me mad. To the point where I behaved very out-of-character."

She sighed, "We're not even dating yet, Charles. I promised you I'd call you when I got home and I was going to do just that tomorrow. Tom rang me last night and asked if I was going to Isobel's thing, I was and he wanted to go together so we shared a taxi. And yes, okay, he came home with me because that's what he always does and you know what, yes, we usually go to bed because we get on and we're friends and we have chemistry. But tonight…" she paused, turning to refill her glass. "Tonight we didn't, I told him no and you know why – because of you, because I was thinking of you. We're not dating, but we were going to go _on_ a date, and it changed things." She shrugged, "I hadn't realised I was doing anything wrong, and I really don't know what to say to you now because you've made me feel like shit."

"God I never meant that, I just felt…" he put his drink down untouched, "I felt cheated and I didn't want it to happen again. To lose you to another man, even though I don't 'have' you exactly… you know what I mean." He fumbled for the right words. "I think you're wonderful and I'm sorry that I hurt you tonight, or freaked you out or made you feel that I was being possessive."

"I don't do well with people trying to own me, control me. I've lived on my own since I was twenty-two years old; I've supported myself all these years. I don't take kindly to somebody walking in and grabbing me."

"I won't do it again." He swallowed, "That is, if you give me the chance."

She swallowed her drink, twirling the glass between her fingers, "This Alice woman, she really messed you up?"

He laughed hollowly, leaning back against her kitchen wall, "I guess so."

"And I thought I was the one with the deep emotional issues. Fine pair we'll make, blind leading the bloody blind."

He stared at her, turning her words over in his mind. Yes, he'd behaved badly tonight. He's misjudged the situation and jumped in and almost ruined things. But her words suggested there was hope, that she hadn't entirely dismissed him as some crazy old man.

"I like you, Elsie, more than like you, I guess. And I've not wanted to spend time with a woman the way I want to with you since… since forever. There's something here, I think, between us. Or there could be."

She stopped, leaning back against the radiator at the opposite side of the room, glad of its comforting heat.

He gave her time; let the silence fill the room for a moment as she stared at him, legs crossed at the heel, contemplating.

"I was going to call you, Charles, and I did reply to your text messages."

"You did," he admitted.

"I don't want you to misunderstand me - think I was stringing you along, I had every intention of arranging to meet up. I had to go to Isobel's thing tonight, I promised her and Tom…" she shrugged, "and Tom is just easy. It's simple."

"And I'm not?"

She sighed again, covering her face with her hand, "Oh I don't know."

"If you don't want to do this, if you've had second thoughts about having dinner, seeing a movie, spending time together. if you're not attracted to me, don't like how I walk or the way I talk or whatever, then say and put an end to it. But I need to know, Elsie. I need you to tell me to my face here and now."

She smiled then, slightly, shaking her head, "I think we both know I'm attracted to you. We've proven that twice already, haven't we?"

"Three times," he said shyly.

"Oh," she raised an eyebrow, "so we're counting it _like that_ , are we?" She shook her head, "I know I've been putting you off, and I do apologise for that. I just needed time to reflect."

He was glad of the levity for a moment; it gave him time to form his next question, to pluck up the courage. "There's something here Elsie, isn't there? Tell me I'm not imagining it. Not going mad in my old age."

For a long time she stared at him, fighting with her own inner doubts and concerns, nothing to do with him really, nothing at all.

"Yes." She whispered, then nodded, "Yes, there's something here." She leant back against the radiator again, groaning, "Oh all of this is so messy, you know, these things are never easy, _never_. And I'm not very good at it – sharing, caring, all that stuff. I'm a selfish bitch Charles."

"I happen to think differently; you rushed home to attend your friend's charity event, didn't you?"

"To avoid her hitting me round the head with her handbag, yes!"

He chuckled, "I promise not to push Elsie."

She smiled to herself at that, shaking her head.

"Yeah, not really proven that so far, alright," he agreed, staring at his shoes.

This great bulk of a man filling her kitchen and he looked so very forlorn as he stood there facing her, hopeful and apologetic. "Charles," she said softly, and he looked up from the floor to her face. "You misunderstand me. Do you want to have dinner with me?"

Hope bloomed in his chest and he couldn't help his grin of delight, "Yes," he nodded. "Yes, I'll have dinner with you."

"How about tomorrow?"

Now he smiled easily, his shoulders drooping in relief. "How about yes?"

"I'll book a table somewhere?"

"Anywhere."

She giggled, "Somewhere halfway decent though, perhaps." She moved to him, touching his hand for just a second. "You want some tea?"

"I'd like that."

"But you can't stay," she said matter-of-factly. "Not if we're dating. That's a very different thing to the casual arrangement the other week. I wouldn't have done that had I known this was going to happen..."

"I didn't presume, I mean I wouldn't expect…" he bumbled and she patted his hand.

"Alright. I'll make strong tea, drink your whisky, you need it."


	5. Chapter 5

_**I didn't intend to continue with this but then I had quite a few messages asking me to and I had this conversation going around in my head yesterday so... here it is.**_

 ** _I'm trying out different things at the moment through fanfic to help me with other writing so this one is a lot of dialogue as I try to track an entire evening and not just little bits of it._**

* * *

 _ **Because, given time, everyone reveals their true colours.**_

* * *

 **Chapter 5 – Saturday 23** **rd** **January**

It's not like Elsie to be nervous. She's been the 'together' person for as long as she can recall. If she gives herself time to stop and think – which she never does – she'd realise she's been the together person since she stepped foot outside of her family home, outside of the village, and headed for England.

It didn't take long for her father's heated words and her mother's weary gaze to soften, when the bad weather hit three winters later and the farming dried up. At the time Elsie had never reflected on how much it must have cost her mother to pick up the phone and make the call – _can we borrow money_ – from their little girl, the little girl who had shrouded the family in disgust when she'd jilted her fiancé, ditched a wedding that had been a year-and-a-half in the planning and left home.

She'd sent the cheque. Unsure whether her feelings at the time were glee at being in the position to do so, or heartbreak at the fact she had to.

Her visits home had been sporadic over the years and she regretted that, had regretted it bitterly when she'd received the call to inform her of her mother's death. She hadn't cried at the words, or weeks later during the funeral. It had been five weeks after that horrific day – an entire five weeks – and she'd suddenly found herself sobbing, right there in a busy restaurant with Beryl and Isobel and Anna and they'd been drinking and chatting and eating and she'd just cried. All at once.

Still, she was back together the following morning. She had a job to do. And now she supported both her father and sister…

Thoughts of her sister brought familiar pangs, feelings she'd rather not deal with.

Instead she returns to doing her hair. Applying perfume. Checking make-up. Singing to the radio.

There's a taxi booked for 7:10, so she should be there bang on 7:30 – she gets a feeling Charles values punctuality. But then any businessman worth their salt does.

* * *

He's twenty minutes early. He turns his watch around on his wrist – a gift from Robert but the strap's a little too big, he'll have to get it fixed – and grimaces as he stands on the frosty street reflecting on that fact. Twenty minutes. Better than being late but still, he doesn't want to come across as some sad bastard. He needs to take a step back now, give her space, be cool, calm and charismatic – that's the ticket!

He wanders along the road for a while. It's a busy area of town so he mingles into the other pedestrians heading places. Young people mostly out on a Saturday night, there's plenty of pubs along this strip and all are gearing up for a decent night.

They must be numb to the bone, he ponders as he watches them, girls in next to nothing dresses, boys in short sleeves, jacketless. And there he is, thick winter coat, scarf and leather gloves, his old bones bundled up. Still, he thought he resembled something of a 'together' middle-aged man as he glanced in the hall mirror on his way out, not the fidgety, desperate man he come across as the previous night. How he cringes to think of that now, he's never behaved that way in his life, never! Not even when Alice cheated on him, even then when he felt his heart physically break as he stared at the pair of them on the sofa.

Instead he ran. Shrank back inside himself and buried those feelings. And look what happened. Thirty years on his own mourning that lost love. He doesn't want to shrink away from how he's already beginning to feel for Elsie. But he can't jump in like he had been doing, step back, take a breath, perhaps enjoy it. And trust her. He must try that. Trusting another.

He turns, heads back down towards the restaurant she'd texted him about. In his pocket he turns over his phone, slips it out and glances at the screen, 7:22, well he's killed most of the time anyhow, and no message or call from her so she must still be joining him.

Smiling, he stops as he comes to cross the street, glancing around and then crossing, pausing when he sees a taxi pull up and a familiar pair of legs emerge from the back of it.

He crosses as she turns and she spots him, hanging her bag over her arm and raising her hand to wave hello.

"Good timing," she says, then turns to pay her driver and Charles rolls his eyes, yeah, good timing, just like him falling over her on the path on New Year's Eve – fate.

"Evening," he says, leaning in to politely kiss her cheek. "You look lovely."

"It's so cold," she says, squeezing his arm in response to the kiss and he feels his pulse quicken.

She moves before him to the restaurant entrance, "I was watching all these young women as we drove up in these tiny skirts and bare legs!" She shook her head, glancing back at him. "I'm so glad I opted for trousers."

"Very true, and you er…" he leans over her head, pushes the door open, "you look lovely, as I said."

She turns inside, tilting her head in a slight smile, "Thank you." He's nervous and she really doesn't want him to be, though she was nervous too, funny how hers settled the moment she saw him out on the street.

"It's wonderful here, have you ever been?"

"Once I think, but many years ago."

"They took on a new manager about five years ago, he's turned it around, the seafood is amazing. Do you like seafood?"

"Yes. Mostly."

He turns his attention to the young girl greeting them, "Good evening sir, madam. Do you have a booking?"

"Yes we er…" Charles begins, and then he pauses, he didn't book.

"We have a booking under Hughes." Elsie says, already removing her scarf and coat, the girl must be new, she doesn't recognise her.

"Ah, yes, 7:30. Bang on time. Would you like me to take your coats?"

"Thank you," Elsie hands hers across and they're led to their table.

"I requested one in the corner by the window," she whispers to him as they're seated. "It's the best one, nobody wandering past you to deliver food or use the bathroom.

"Nice choice, what shall we drink?"

"Wine. Lots of it." She says, opening her menu.

"Tough day?"

"Just busy, and I overslept this morning, was nice to be back in my own bed."

"Nothing like it. Red or white?"

"White? If that's okay with you?"

"It is, if we're having seafood too. I saw Turbot on the specials board, think I might go for that."

"Hmm," she searches in her handbag, "Sorry, I'm going to have to put my glasses on."

"I didn't realise you wore them."

"Only for reading, can't see a damned thing these days. Squinting at this thing and being vain."

He chuckles, "Never."

"There." She pops them on.

"Better?"

"Well, for seeing yes." She looks down at her menu, "make me look old."

"They don't," he says lowly. "Will it be terrible if I have these prawns to start, messy?"

"Won't bother me, think I'm going to have these crab cakes."

"Oh, they look good too. Now I'm torn."

"We could share," she offers, slipping her glasses off. "I bet you get two or three, and I'd like the prawns too."

"Good plan."

A gentleman approaches their table, no paper pads these days, some electronic device that communicates with the kitchen. "Good evening."

"Evening," Charles says and Elsie looks up and smiles at him.

"Hello Sam, how are you?"

"Very well, Ms Hughes, thank you. And you, good Christmas?"

"Seems an age ago but yes. How are your family, your sister?"

"Doing well. Laura's just gone back to Uni actually, I can't believe the break they get."

"The joy of being a student." Elsie smiles. "How's the training going?"

The young man's shoulder drop, "Busy and stressful but okay, I'm sure I'll get there. Can I get you something to drink?"

"Yes, we're going to have a bottle of white actually." Charles turns his menu over scanning the wines.

"Will you pick us something perfect to go with the prawn starter, Sam? That would be wonderful."

"I'll do my best, won't be long."

"You know him?"

"I come here a lot. And his sister did her work experience with me, about two years ago, maybe three now. Time goes too fast. He's a nice young man, training to be a chef."

"Ah, I see." He can't help but feel relieved. The kid can only be twenty-two at best.

She smirks, looking at the mains, "You thought I'd led him astray, didn't you?"

"I didn't say…" he blusters, feelings his cheeks flush and she laughs again.

"You have this warped impression of me." She closes her menu. "I guess I can't blame you, going on our first meeting."

He folds his hands atop of his menu, "Well, it works both ways." He finds himself fiddling with the ends of his fork. "Why did you sleep with me?" He says softly, aware of the other diners.

"Well, why did you me?"

"That's cheating, I asked first."

She giggled, leaning back in her chair, wishing Sam would hurry up with that wine. "Yes, but you want me to be honest, right?"

"Brutally so."

"I need some incentive."

He chuckled, she was quite entertaining, he guessed she would always be so. "Alright. If I'm brutally honest, I had three reasons."

"Lay it on the line. I'm a big girl, I can take it."

"Well, number one, you offered."

She laughed again, folding her hands beneath her chin. "I did."

"Number two, I…rather embarrassingly, hadn't slept with someone for about ooh twenty-nine months."

She sucked in a tight breath and pursed her lips.

"Number three… you're very beautiful."

"Oh," she said softly, it wasn't like her to blush at compliments.

"And now, I'm mortified so you…go…"

"Alright. I don't have three reasons."

"Okay."

"Just one."

"Yes."

"I was lonely."

Charles hadn't expected that. He felt his pulse quicken again – being on a date with her was akin to being on a treadmill.

She shrugged, "I've been lonely for a long time." She stopped talking when Sam returned with their wine, a Sancerre.

"Cheers." She said, after they'd ordered and held her glass up to his. "Here's to honesty."

His eyebrows rose, "Well then, cheers." He took a drink, "Does that mean you're going to elaborate on the lonely thing."

"If I must. People have this impression of me just sleeping around. I do date, or rather I did, I haven't since last summer."

"You were seeing someone?"

"Danny. A banker. It just fizzled out, it happens."

"It does. Do you think," he felt a little on shaky ground, "you give this impression purposefully? You told me you don't do relationships."

"A one night stand is as different to dating as dating is as different to a relationship."

"You're trying to tie me up."

"We've started on serious stuff, haven't we?" She leant back in her chair. "Maybe we should get through a bottle and return to this. Or maybe two or three dates."

He couldn't help but smile, she'd intimated (purposefully or not) that they'd be having more dates. He stretched his legs out beside her chair. "Alright." He didn't want to risk pushing anything yet, just get to know her, take it steady. "So, how come your day was so busy?"

"You know, getting home after weeks away, all my washing for one." She twirled her fingers around the stem of her wine glass. "And then I attended my weekly gym session which I hate. No, that's not strong enough, I detest."

"If you detest it, why go?" He chuckled.

"Because I drink too much wine, and gin, and I like bread. And this thing, this class I take, kills me. I have no co-ordination."

"Me neither."

"So I'm all over the place and sweating and urgh, just horrid. But I have to justify the payment going out of my account once a month and it keeps me from looking like the back end of tram smash."

"To quote Shirley Valentine."

"Ah, you got it."

"I like the actress. So, after your sweaty gym session?"

"I rested in the Jacuzzi. Which is, of course, the best bit of working out. Then I did my shop for the week, rang some guy about coming to fix my garden fence, checked in with work stuff, which I'm angry with myself for doing."

"Why?"

"I made a pact to myself, maybe 8 years ago… no, longer, erm...11 years ago. It was when I turned forty; I promised myself I'd stop working weekends. I wanted to enjoy myself and never work one again. I slip every now and then. I can't believe it's been that long, that I'm now that old!"

He rolled his eyes, he was at least five years older. "It's a nice promise to make."

"We all work too hard nowadays, don't you think?"

"Very much so, I'm enjoying my slower pace of life, it's quiet, at times, lonely, as you say."

"What did you do today?"

"Walked, this morning, that's what I do to keep fit, no gym."

"Cheaper. Better scenery."

"Hour and a half I think I did, just on the tops, then went for a late breakfast, which I suppose kind of nulls the benefits of a healthy walk. Read the papers, that took me to midday. Went home, did the boring cleaning jobs, had a walk to the post office. Normal stuff." He shrugged, "Got ready to meet you."

"Take you a while?"

"You'll make me out nervous."

"I was. I'll admit it, if we on this honesty kick, I was nervous. Oddly. That's silly isn't it? I wasn't nervous when we slept together."

"Hadn't you had a fair amount of gin?"

She slapped his hand when it lay upon the table. "One or two."

"I need to apologise, you know."

"For?"

"My behaviour last night, in fact I've not been wonderful for most of January."

"You apologised last night," her hand was still on top of his, "you don't have to apologise again."

"No, but I've hardly made a great impression."

"Well clearly I didn't neither." She moved her hand, noting Sam returning with their starters. "We started at an odd place, I really didn't expect…" she laid her napkin in her lap. "Thank you very much."

"This looks wonderful," Charles commented, shifting his wine glass out of the way.

"Enjoy," Sam said, then lowered his voice, "the sauce for the crab cakes is my recipe."

"We'll be sure to praise that especially," Charles said as Sam left them alone. "Go on then," he turned his attention back to Elsie. "You didn't expect...?"

"Oh, I didn't expect it to lead to anything. New Year's Eve."

"I was just better than going home alone?"

"Don't say it like that. How do you want to share this? We should have asked for a third plate."

"Here," he took his side plate and put it between them, carefully spooning half of his prawns onto it. "We may as well both have questionably smelling hands after peeling off the shells."

She laughed, "I guess so," she passed across two of the crab cakes. "Where did you grow up, anyhow?"

"Here. Yorkshire born and bred. I'd never seen another part of the country until I was sixteen and went on the school residential. Then I got a bit of a travel bug, it was easy doing my job, I got to travel as far as I wanted."

"But you came home?"

"I did. I missed it, you know how they say your home town is forever in your blood? I guess in my case it's true. How about you, you miss Scotland?"

She swallowed, "Maybe, sometimes. Not as much now as I did when I first moved to England."

"Where did you go? I mean, did you come here straight away?"

"No, I erm. I started in Newcastle for a month or so, then London – figured I may as well do it whilst I was young and without ties. Managed about eight months then I had no money so travelled north again, ended up in York. I liked it there, I moved out of the city for money reasons and ended up here and then I met Beryl. She worked in the sandwich shop across from the estate agents I got a job in, and she was my first real friend. We didn't get on at first, she thought I was snooty, I used to get sent over for the sandwiches and cakes at lunch and I was so shy and determined to do things right, I guess I was a bit standoffish."

"Couple of months and you were firm friends?"

"Something like that. These are gorgeous, aren't they?"

"They are. I've nearly finished, you're not even half way through." He observed.

"You want some more of mine?"

"No, no, that's not what I meant. You enjoy." He put his cutlery down, watching her eat. "Do you ever wish you'd done things differently, gone another way?"

"With my choices you mean? My career or privately?"

He refilled their glasses again, the bottle was almost empty, "Both, maybe, I don't know. Sometimes I think I would've liked to have a family, I look around and see my friends with children and I never stayed still long enough to let it happen."

"I suppose it's always easy to look at what other's have got and imagine what your life could've been. But things aren't too bad, are they?"

"Not at all. I've been lucky. I've had some incredible experiences."

"Where's the most exciting place you've been?"

"I did enjoy Australia. I took some time out whilst I was there, travelled about, walked a lot, saw a lot. Where do you like to holiday, anyhow?"

"I'm not that adventurous I'm afraid."

"Oh, I don't know, travelling to another part of the country on your own when you're just…how old were you?"

"Twenty-two. Just."

"And you were meant to be getting _married_?"

"I know, it's unbelievable now to think on it. I can't believe I actually almost walked down the aisle. I don't regret that choice."

"No."

"I take one holiday a year."

"Only one!"

"I like to work." She laughed. "Besides, I go on my own usually, I'm bored of my own company after two weeks. And I take trips with the girls, now their children are older and have left home."

"Where do you go, on your own I mean?"

"To hot places with long beaches and a bar. I really enjoyed the Maldives, that was a bit of a luxury, a treat to myself."

"Do you swim, snorkel?"

"I did there, joined a group. I enjoyed it; some of it freaked me out. Took me ages to get the hang of the breathing."

"Which did you prefer?" He asked as she put her cutlery down.

"Hard to choose, the prawns were wonderful but…"

"The crab cakes had the edge, I agree. You made the better choice."

"I am known for picking well," she pushed her chair back from the table. "I'm going to visit the ladies and wash my hands properly. Don't miss me too much."

She bit her lip as she walked away – perhaps she shouldn't have said that, she didn't want to flirt too much, keep it light, friendly, sometimes her nature just took over, she was flirtatious! She was cheeky and fun and smart and sassy when the mood took her right.

Internally she shook her head at herself, fancy getting to fifty-one and _still_ questioning how you spoke to a boy!

* * *

"So, I ordered more wine," Charles said when she returned. "Just Pinot this time, that alright?"

"Wonderful." She breathed deeply, glancing out of the window at passers-by. "Do you ever wonder about all of the people on this planet, and how you meet the tiniest possible little snippet of them?"

"I can't say I dwell upon it, but yes, it has passed my mind. And how we meet them too –,"

"Yes," she interrupted. "That, we only meet those we live near or work with or friends of a friend. How can we possibly ever know if there's somebody out there at the other side of the world who is perfect for us?"

"Well, the opposite too, what if the perfect person for you has been living in your town, your street even, for years and you've never even met them? There are people who live in my block of flats that if I passed at the bus stop I wouldn't recognise."

"Sad that, isn't it. When I was child everybody knew everybody in our village – everybody! It had its downsides, we of course all knew that the postmaster was having it away with the Johnson's daughter who worked part time on the 10p sweet counter."

Charles laughed.

"And we all knew that merry Mr Frost at number 12 was a bit of a flasher, liked to stand behind his curtains naked and see if he could catch out unsuspecting young women."

"Oh good god!"

"I know, funny though, it was never openly spoken about in a terrifying way, not like things are now. We were just told to keep our distance, not walk past his house. We just thought he was odd." She took a drink of her wine, "But then again there were good points, every single person turned out for my mother's funeral, every one of them, out in the street as we rolled past in the car."

"Were you close to your mother?"

"At one time, we were. I had her to myself for nine years, then she fell unexpectedly pregnant again, and my sister was there, I think I might have just turned ten and Becky…"

He swallowed, suddenly the mood had changed and she seemed quite a different woman.

"Becky is just…not quite right…" she shook her head, turning her attention back to the window. "People can be cruel, you know. We're meant to be the most civilised beings on the planet and yet look at us. 2016 and we're at war, all over the place. And we lock out refugees needing food and shelter whilst we dine to extravagance in places like this. We bully those we don't care for instead of live and let live; Beryl's daughter was cyber-bullied for eight months and nobody knew. Eight months. She's the sweetest thing you could meet, but because she's different, well, it gives others a reason to post comments or make veiled threats. And I've been there, people saying things, I know…" She looked up at him suddenly, as if she'd remembered where she was. "I'm sorry, I was going on."

"Don't apologise, I liked listening to you."

"I talk too much, sometimes at dinner parties I hear myself going on and I think 'shut up Elsie, let someone else get a word in.' I used to beat myself up over that, when I was young."

"You're just confident, you speak your mind, I like that. I'd rather people were honest and straightforward, sometimes I miss things, hints at things, I like it to be clear-cut."

"I'll remember that." She took another drink of her wine as their main courses arrived – Turbot for him, Lobster linguine for her. "So, if I'm not being too rude, can I ask you about this Alice?"

He cut into his fish, watching how easily the translucent flakes came apart. "I don't mind you asking, I guess we're hardly like a normal first date, tentative steps so we don't offend the other."

"As we've already had our first argument, you mean?"

He sighed heavily, "Mmm, my fault. I can't believe…"

"Stop." She waved her hand at him, "We've done that. Alice?"

"Alice. Damned Alice. I met her at University, courted her… do people still say that?"

"I don't think so but my Granny used to say it, 'ya courting yet our Elsie?' every Sunday when we went round for tea."

"Ha, I remember that."

"And she used to whisper things to me like, 'don't let em talk your knickers down!'"

Charles laughed, "Victorian ideals."

"Indeed. Like only men were interested in sex, we had to think of it as wrong, taboo, to be avoided at all costs unless you were married and did your duty."

"Lord, it's easy to forget that it's not that long ago. I knew nothing of sex when I was a lad, nobody explained it to you, told you what to expect or explained the odd sensations you were starting to have were perfectly normal."

"I know. I was a virgin when I left home, waiting patiently for my wedding night."

"I can't confess to that. But I did want to wait with Alice, I took it slowly, that's me all over! Bide my time, work my way up to it, be 100% sure of my feelings. I'd walk her home, spend all lunch with her in the library helping with her studies and then… well, I came home one night from, don't laugh neither, Scouts, to find her and Charlie having sex on the sofa."

"Oh dear." She put her fork down, refilling his glass. "Charlie your housemate?"

"Yes. And friend, best friend, often led me astray. He was like the other side of me, the two Charlies; we had a little cabaret thing going on in the student union, juggling, tricks and the like. Made a bit of extra money on the side. He was the funny, extrovert one; I was the large, gangly one who was easily the but of the jokes."

"Only him sleeping with your girl wasn't so funny."

"No, it wasn't." he took a long drink. "Broke my heart, truth be told, both of them. Took me years…" he shook his head, "I was going to say it took me years to get over it, but maybe I never did, going on my behaviour with you."

She licked her lips, pushing her pasta bowl to one side. "You know, you have no reason to be jealous over me. I'm not stupid Charles, and I'm not a cheat. Yes, okay, I'm headstrong and independent and I do what _I want to do_ not what others think I should. But if I'm seeing someone then I am only seeing them, I wouldn't cheat on you. My view is if you like somebody else enough to have sex with them then you need to end the thing you're in before you do it. I know the girls make fun of me but they know that too, I have no hang-ups about sex or attraction, I don't judge people, but I do ask that they offer me the same courtesy."

"I don't judge you, I told you that."

"I know."

"And Alice, well, she was part of the reason I took that first job in France, training to be a butler."

"Not a scout leader?" She teased.

"Hey, I was damned good at that."

"Oh, I bet."

"You having dessert?"

"Absolutely. And coffee, let's get a pot of it."

"Sure." He beckoned to a waiter. "Could we get a dessert menu, please?"

"Of course sir."

"France?" She asked, after they'd ordered and were once again alone.

"France. Yes. I worked night and day to take my mind off what had happened, left my course at University, deferred but I never went back."

"I regret that I never went to University, I think I would've done alright, given the circumstances. But I was hardly ever at school, always working on the farm. Still, who finally made you get over her? You must have met someone who stole your heart?"

"Not quite. I had girlfriends, _relationships_ ," he said smiling, "but I wouldn't say I got over her. And then," he pushed down the plunger on the coffee. "And then I made the biggest mistake of my life. She told me, one night, that she'd always regretted her decision, choosing Charlie over me."

"Oh my goodness, what a terrible thing for her to do."

"Yeah, thirty years and then that. It confused me, brought things flooding back that I thought I'd buried."

"I take it that's when you slept with her?"

He nodded. "Disgusted with myself to admit it."

She placed her hand over his again, "You mustn't be, you made a mistake, people have done worse. People are still doing worse. You're a good man, a nice man."

"Nice makes me sound dull."

"That's not what I mean. I mean you're a decent man, and I think sometimes I forget they exist."

"This Tom guy?"

She smirked, she'd wondered if he'd bring him up, "Yes?"

"Are you and he… I mean, will you still _see_ him?"

"I'll see him as a friend, Charles, because he is my friend."

He nodded.

"And Alice, do you see her?"

"Casually. I try to avoid them both, Charlie and I were never close again after that."

"I'm guessing the student union gig evaporated."

"As if by magic." They laughed together. "What have you got, anyhow?"

"Blueberry… what was it? Some man's name?"

"Graham?"

"That's it, Blueberry Graham, it's fabulous, but very rich. I may waddle home. You want to try?"

"Sure."

She pushed her glass across and he took a spoonful.

"Very good, and yes, very rich. You want some cheesecake?"

"I'm not a big fan of lemons."

"Ah, okay. More coffee though?"

"Please."

"So, your trip was successful, I haven't asked you that yet?"

"Yes, very. I found at least seven properties I'm interested in. I may have to extend my business… it's all pie-in-the-sky at the moment but I have a meeting with my financial advisor on Tuesday to talk things through and consider the options. Rather exciting, I'd never considered branching out around the country before."

"Do you have pictures of the properties?"

"Yes, on my laptop, you'd like to see?"

"Sure."

"I can email them," she put her spoon down; it was still surprising to her that he wanted to know about her life, every aspect of it. "And you, you said you were living a slower pace of life now but you're still running your…"

"Domestic service. Yes, I am. But it's easier, I'm in the same place for one thing, and I can work from home, I have my office there and I can do all I need to. We have some reliable clients around here who use us regularly but I've got three butlers out in Europe at the moment, they're the most popular."

"Like being an agent."

"I guess so, yes. I do the advertisements, got the website going, it's not brilliant but Edith helps."

"Edith? Mary's sister?"

"Yes. She's quite good you know, not the fire of Mary but a solid worker."

"Is she something to do with a newspaper?"

"Yes, she always loved journalism, was on the paper at school and university. Anyhow, she helps me with the website and Mary's the one for networking."

"You're close to those girls?"

"I suppose so. I used to send them gifts when I was abroad. Robert was a help, you know, after the stuff with Charlie. Helped me get started with the business when I came home too."

"Good of him." She pushed her cup aside, "I'm stuffed."

"Me too. You were right, it is very good here."

"I am often right," she said with a smile.

"Oh, I bet you are!" He laughed. "Should we get the bill?"

"A-ha."

"And you'll let me pay?"

"Never."

"Thought not. Fifty-fifty?"

"Yes, are you paying by card?"

"I was going to."

"I'll give you cash then, I went to the machine just in case."

It felt odd, after he'd paid, to have her hand across her share – he'd never done that on a date before, he was always the gent – and then when they got up to leave she put another twenty on the table.

"What's that for?"

"Tip for Sam, he doesn't make much."

"You're a softie really, aren't you?"

"Don't tell too many people, ruin my reputation."

She felt his hand just touch her back as she moved ahead of him and she found herself leaning back, it was nice to be touched by him, nice to have that care.

"Let's share a taxi." He said as they retrieved their coats.

"We're going in opposite directions."

"I know but indulge me, I want to see you get home right."

"Charles, really." She sniggered.

"I know, you're a tough woman and you've survived in this world alone, I know… but just for me, just so I know."

"Alright," she nodded, "alright."

They sat in the back listening to the low thrum of the driver's radio, the incessant beeping of jobs coming in and the flashing meter ticking up second-by-second.

Charles stared out of the window, it had started to drizzle and he hoped it would cease before they got to her house, he didn't want her to get wet.

"I enjoyed myself," she said quietly, and he turned to look at her, the fake leather seats creaking as he turned.

"So did I, very much. Do you, want to go out again?" _Lord, he sounded like a kid!_

"Yes, I'd like that a lot."

"Friday night, perhaps?"

"I'm out Friday already, taking out the two girls who work for me, it's nice for us to do it once a month, makes for a pleasant atmosphere."

"That does sound nice. Saturday again then?"

She smiled, "Girly day, shopping in Leeds with Izzy and Beryl, I won't get back until late, we're taking the train…"

"Okay. You clearly have a busier calendar than me."

She nudged his arm, "Maybe you just plan last minute."

"Yes, that's it." He noted they were turning into her street. "Weekend after?"

"Maybe. But how about next Sunday, breakfast?"

"That sounds good."

"Shall I text you?"

"Absolutely." The taxi pulled to a stop. "Here, let me help you to your door."

She was going to protest, it was raining after all, but part of her was extremely flattered by the attention so she let him walk with her.

"So, I was thinking." She said, fiddling in her bag for her door keys.

"Yes?"

"I think maybe you should change my name in your phone."

He chuckled, feeling his cheeks flush in the cool night air. "Already done."

"Ah, good." She nodded. "Well, thank you Charles, I had a lovely time."

"So did I."

"And I'll see you soon." She said.

"You will. Looking forward to it."

"Me too." She thought of kissing him, leaning up, capturing his lovely mouth with hers, but for some reason she felt rather demure now.

"Well, goodnight Elsie." He leant forward, squeezed her shoulder, kissed her cheek tenderly.

"Goodnight Charles." She watched him walk back down the driveway, waved her hand when he turned to get back into the taxi.

Hadn't she started the evening feeling nervous? Now, she felt nervous again. Anxious. _Was that it?_ Whatever it was she couldn't wait to see him again.

It was the best first date either of them had ever had.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Sorry for delay with this - things going on but I am getting there slowly...**_

* * *

 **Chapter 6**

 **Wednesday, 27** **th** **January**

When he heard from her Wednesday night it was a rather pleasant surprise. He'd just been settling down to watch Midsomer Murders – a guilty pleasure, it was gentle, steady and predictable (like himself, he often thought) and the phone had gone.

He'd cursed at first, settled as he was on the sofa with the blanket over his legs and a brandy in hand, but then his gruff, "Yes" had been met with her teasing giggle.

"Do you greet all callers that way?"

"Elsie…" he stumbled back to the sofa, searching for the remote control to mute the adverts. "Sorry, I, er, just let me…"

"Are you quite alright?"

"Sorry, just searching for the er, the thing… ah, there we go. I can hear you now."

She chuckled again, "I only rang so we could arrange Sunday, I didn't mean to interrupt your evening."

"No, no, I'm glad that you rang, I'm just not very good with these things. I can't hear you very well, I don't how you turn the volume up."

"Put me on speaker."

"On what?"

"On the screen, there should be an icon…erm, an image that looks like a speakerphone, if you press it I'll be on speaker so you might hear me better."

"Infernal contraption," he said, blinking at the six small icons on the screen, he pressed the speaker button. "Is that it?"

"Can you hear me better?"

"Much. Surround sound now."

"Ah, Elsie in stereo."

"It's rather nice, like having you here." he felt his cheeks warm, "I mean, well… a proper conversation."

"That's very sweet. You've recovered from me talking your ear off Saturday night then?"

"You know I enjoyed it."

"So did I."

Her voice sounded soft and he wondered where she was sitting, what she was wearing; she sounded relaxed and he was picturing her in pretty much the same position he was – on the sofa, wrapped up in a blanket against the winter cold.

"So, Sunday?" she finally said.

He watched the opening credits to Midsomer flash across the screen and smiled, "Would you like to walk first?" he asked. "Build up an appetite for breakfast?"

"Walk?" she spluttered. "As in, out in nature, across the fields?"

It was his turn to laugh, "We don't have to. We can just meet somewhere. Did you have somewhere in mind?"

"I feel bad for quashing the walking now, and I picked for the last date."

"I don't mind."

"That's because you're polite." she chewed on the end of her nail. "Where would we walk to?"

"Does there have to be a specific destination?" he drew his legs up onto the sofa, pulling a blanket over them.

"No, I guess not." she laughed.

"What that means is, 'yes, of course there does!' You give yourself away, Elsie."

"Oh really?" she laughed again, a joyous, free sound, it made him remember being in bed with her, how she'd smiled at him when they were sharing the same pillow. "We can just walk for a while, couple of miles, Bishop Wilton, perhaps, do you know it?"

"I do. I can't say I've done more than sit in The Fleece."

"Good pub."

"It is. Alright, but only a couple of miles."

"Deal." he smiled. "Shall I come pick you up?"

"If you like."

He smiled again, "You don't make things easy."

"I'm sorry. I did call you though, which is the second time I've initiated our date."

Her voice was enchanting, "It is. I promise to initiate the third."

"I'll hold you to that, Mr Carson."

"Do. So, 8:30?"

"Yes, of course, pick me up at 8:30 on a winter morning." she laughed.

"Alright." he didn't want the call to end, he watched adverts flash across the screen and wished he was there with her instead of home alone. "What are you doing now?"

"I've just finished working, unfortunately. So I'm pouring a glass of wine and then taking a bath."

"Nice plan."

"You?"

"Erm, watching something intellectual on television."

"Of course you are. So, I'll see you Sunday?"

"You will."

"Enjoy the rest of your week."

"I'll try. Goodnight Elsie."

"Night."

He hung up first, thinking of her listening to him on the other end of the line.

* * *

 **Saturday, 30** **th** **January**

"Anyway…" Beryl said as the waitress left their table, "Enough about properties and the weather and boring stuff."

"Oh thanks very much," Elsie chided, digging out the slice of lemon from her glass of Pepsi with her straw – _why must they always insist on putting this rubbish in?_ Like onions in salad, that's all you can taste!

"Sorry darling but really, I've been waiting for this all week." Beryl said, folding her hands on the table and leaning forward.

"Waiting for what?"

"You know what, feedback on your date with the big guy."

"Don't call him that, sounds positively indecent." Elsie chastised, deliberately sucking on her straw.

"Tall guy then. Don't hold out on us now?"

"How come Izzy doesn't get this treatment, hmm? Her and her Doctor?"

Isobel held her hands up, "Don't bring me into this."

"Because Isobel is clearly loved up and she has her head screwed on right."

"As opposed to me who's got my head backwards and is a miserable old cow?"

"Putting words in my mouth."

Elsie huffed, folding her arms across her stomach. The other two sat across from her in the booth and she felt a little like she was on trial.

"Where's Anna when I need her?"

"Well, apparently too loved up with this new guy to bother shopping with us." Beryl pointed out.

"Moving fast this one," Izzy added.

"Yeah, even quicker than you, you're a bad influence."

"Is this pick on Elsie day?"

"You know I only care because I like this one, he's a nice man, he seems to be anyhow." Beryl said, her tone softer.

"He _is_ a nice man." Isobel added. "A lonely man, I fear."

Elsie bit down on her bottom lip, stirring her straw around in her Pepsi. "He is a nice man, and we had a nice date."

Beryl's smile almost broke her face, "A _very_ nice date?"

Elsie looked up at her smiling friends, "Alright, a very nice first date, a wonderful first date, in fact. Okay, enough information?"

"Hell no!" Beryl laughed.

"Oh my god, Elsie," Isobel reached across for her hand. "I'm so glad it went well, I'm sooo glad."

"We all are."

"You make me sound a charity case."

"Do you know how many years we've been willing you to find some man decent enough for you? Some man to look after you?" Isobel said.

"I don't need…"

"Yes, we know all that," Beryl interrupted. "You don't need somebody, but you damn well ought to have somebody because you're bloody wonderful and you need some good loving."

Elsie smiled, turning her face away for a second – yes, she didn't need somebody, but it might be nice to have somebody, all the same.

"So, you're seeing him again?" Isobel asked.

"Yes. Tomorrow for breakfast."

"Did you make him your pancakes for breakfast last Sunday?" Beryl asked, snacking on the bowl of nuts on the table. "He'll be hooked forever if you make them for him."

"Well, no, because he didn't… we didn't…"

"He didn't stay over?" Beryl asked, her hand pausing in mid-air, a hazelnut part way to her mouth.

"No. We didn't even kiss."

"Bloody hell." Isobel said, "its serious."

"Don't do that. Don't say that." Elsie insisted.

"It is, it's serious, you're waiting to have sex with him."

"It hardly counts when I've…" Elsie lowered her voice to whisper, "already _had_ sex with him."

"It's a bit wrong road round," Beryl observed, "granted. But still, it means something, if you're waiting."

"God knows how long I'll wait, he's pretty gorgeous."

The other two women laughed.

"What? Don't laugh at me," she slapped at Beryl's hand. "He is. And that voice…" she swooned back in her seat.

"Hark at her, Disney Princess."

They laughed together again, giggling like teenagers.

"I have fond memories of it too," she murmured lowly.

"It's like try before you buy." Beryl chuckled.

"Bugger off. How was I to know I'd actually like him, get on with him?"

"Well, yes, fancy that." Beryl smiled, genuinely happy. "Elsie likes a boy."

"You can stop talking about it now, and after dinner we need to go to some sports store or walking thing or something."

"Sports? What on earth for?" Isobel asked, finishing her orange juice.

"Because he walks, we're going walking, and I'm…"

"As if you have any walking shoes!" Beryl laughed.

"Well, I bloody well know that don't I, hence the need to find some."

"You? Walking? You hate mud. You're non-too fond of the outdoors." Isobel pointed out.

"Piss off. I like nature…from a distance. I grew up on a farm for goodness sake!"

"Yes, but you never speak to us about that. You never tell us about it."

"What is there to tell?" she shrugged, turning her attention to other diners, seemingly distracted.

Beryl glanced at Isobel and shook her head, mouthing, 'Change the subject.'

"So, what do we think of this thing in February? This Valentine thing?"

"Oh, yes," Beryl exuded, "you must bring Charles."

"What thing?"

"You must have got the email," Isobel said, searching in her bag for her phone. "Cora is setting up some big Valentines weekend at this hall."

"Some grand hall." Beryl chipped in.

"Yes, raise money for the hospital. An entire weekend thing, old-fashioned ball, fancy dinner, horse riding, spa… all that stuff. But you have to pay, of course."

"Expensive too."

"But for a good cause."

"Four poster beds!" Beryl winked, "I'm looking forward to having my husband to myself, no kids."

Elsie chewed down on her lip, it did sound wonderful. "You're both going?"

"Of course, I think Anna is too. We'll get to meet her mystery man."

"Send me the email, I must've missed it."

"And Charles…?" Isobel asked.

"We've not even had our second date, yet, give me time."

"Ask him, ask him!" Beryl teased.

"It's an entire weekend together, I'm not sure we're even close to that!" Elsie laughed, though she chewed down on her lip…it didn't sound entirely beyond the realms of possibility.

* * *

 **Sunday 31** **st** **January**

She doesn't wear as much make-up in the day; he thinks this as he watches her search for a suitable coat in the cupboard beneath the stairs. She has a long scarf draped around her shoulders and it amuses him how she keeps standing on it in sock-clad feet and tripping herself.

She is flustered. That amuses him too. She'd struck him as always being 'together', but he's learning so very much about this woman. Every minute something new.

"You just want something that you don't mind getting a little dirty – if it should rain or something... snow, maybe…" He offers, trying to be helpful but feeling a little condescending as she murmurs her response.

He notes the two pairs of shoes set out on the hall floor. He glances at his watch – 8:25, he was early, perhaps the reason she was flustered.

"Okay," she finally says, holding up a thick jacket. "Will this do?"

"Perfectly."

She puts it on, wraps the long scarf around her neck and bare chest.

"Now, the boots." she says, indicating two pairs of footwear laid out on the hall floor. "These things," she picks up one of the walking boots, dangling it by the laces. "So heavy."

"Yes?"

"Do I wear these the entire time?" she picks up one of the sparkly canvas shoes, "Or can I wear these up until the actual point of having to walk in the wilderness?"

He chuckles beneath his breath, shaking his head and rubbing his nose, "We don't have to walk, Elsie, if you'd rather not."

"We're bloody walking! I spent almost two hours trying these things on – why do they only come in black, brown or some horrid shade of green? What's wrong with something halfway attractive; purple, perhaps a nice, bright blue?"

"I'm sure they're out there." he can't hide the grin from his face.

"Hmm… So? Advice please."

"Wear the boots to start with, then change after the walk, you'll need an extra pair of socks, I shouldn't wonder, for the boots."

"Ah, do not fear, I am prepared."

She retrieves a pair of socks from the bottom of the stairs.

"Guy in the shop told me that, had me buy these things – at least they're a more pleasant colour." she says, sitting on the bottom step to pull them on – they come up to her knees, which again, makes him laugh.

He lifted his trousers, "Bright ones for me too."

She smiled at his red socks, " _Hey, you've got red and yellow socks? Awesome!_ " She said, laughing.

"I don't get that."

"It's a line from one of Eddie's shows, google it, or youtube it."

"I feel we've just had ten seconds of some kind of other-wordly lingo pass me by."

She yanked her boot on, "Oh dear, well, I'll find it for you. In fact, if we ever have a T.V. night date we'll watch some of his stand-up."

"Ah, you mentioned this man before – he's a comedian?"

"He is." she got to her feet, lifting her feet dramatically, "Right sir, I'm ready for my moon landing."

"You're crazy, aren't you?"

"As they come. Shall we go?"

* * *

Panting and breathless Elsie took the last few steps to the top of the hill, her hands resting on her thighs as she bent forward and drew in a long breath, her chest tight and pulling.

"You okay?"

"I think this might be how I die," she pushed against her legs, standing tall and leaning back to stretch her spine. "Lord above that seemed high."

"Sorry, I forgot there was such an incline." he watched her, half-amused, half-enthralled. Her face was pink and flushed, her hair coming loose from the clip she'd twisted it up in and framing her face. Less make-up, no fancy outfit or immaculate look, yet beautiful. "Good thing is the next bit will be down hill."

"Ha! I'll probably slip and slide down on my backside."

"Quick descent at least."

She bit her lip, smiling at him; his eyes were shining as he watched her. "Look how healthy you look, you enjoyed the walk," she stated.

"I like the exertion," he shrugged.

"No wonder you have such good legs." she wandered towards the edge, resting her hands on the rocks that made up a rather jagged wall, "Isn't it beautiful?"

"Absolutely."

"All ice-capped and pristine, you can't see how muddy the fields are from up here."

He moved to stand beside her.

"Oh and these boots don't keep out the cold, my toes are frozen."

"Mine too. Could do with an open fire to sit by and defrost."

His stomach grumbled and she cast him a look and smiled, "Breakfast?"

"Before I completely embarrass myself."

"Never, I'm the one who can't even walk up a hill without fearing death."

They turned and set off back down the other side of the hill, arms brushing as they walked.

"So, do you usually do these things on your own?" she asked.

"Mostly. I don't mind, I like the quiet, gives me time to think."

"What do you think about?"

"Life. The universe and my place in it. The fluctuating price of fuel."

She laughed, "Big things."

"Sometimes I mull over whether I should have fish and chips for dinner or prepare something healthy." he patted his stomach, "As you can see, the fish and chips usually wins."

"You have a place you like to go to?"

"Indeed, wait for this," he slowed his pace as the ground grew slippy, "here," he took her arm, "lean against me, just in case." she did as he said. "So, are you ready?"

"Go on."

"Linda's _Plaice_ …"

"Ah, very nice!"

"I only like it best because the apostrophe is in the right place."

"Well, one has to have standards."

"I shouldn't eat it really, makes me a little sick these days. A product of age."

"I'm afraid so," she agreed, "I'm the same, I love spicy food but unfortunately I have to suffer for days afterward for it."

They reached the bottom of the hill but he didn't let go of her arm and she leant in against him, feeling comfortable and much warmer.

"Go on then, what's the worst thing about getting older?" she asked.

"That, not being able to eat and drink whatever you want. Oh, and my back, it creaks and won't always do what I want it to do."

"That sounds almost scandalous Mr Carson."

"Well." he blustered, "Go on, I mean I know you're only a child in comparison…"

"Oh yes, yes, but a teenager." she pushed open the gate for them and they left the open field and joined the path that led them back to the village. "I forget things. I've been known to open the fridge door then stand there trying to recall what I wanted."

"Oh yes, done that, or I go shopping and always forget the milk."

She laughed, "Yes. These days I need a list. Okay, so sometimes, and this is embarrassing."

"Yes?"

"I get out a yoghurt, peel off the lid, then for some reason throw the spoon in the bin instead of the lid, and have to fish it back out again."

It was his turn to laugh, "You're right, that is embarrassing. What's your favourite yoghurt flavour?"

"Longley Farm, banana."

"Nice."

"You?"

"Blackcurrant. Black Cherry, at a push. Not a fan of these healthy ones though, they're like water, or when they have bits in – not fruit, those ones thy call bio something or other, meant to fix all the problems in your stomach. They try to fool us with science. I don't buy it."

"Of course not," she chuckled. "Are you a bit of a curmudgeon, really?"

He opened his mouth to respond but she was already going on.

"I have to admit that I eat quite a few of those, my lunch is usually a yoghurt and an apple."

"How the hell do you function?"

"On coffee." Elsie glanced up to the heavy sky, "It may snow."

"It may. Let's hope it holds off until we've enjoyed our breakfast. You're not going to just order yogurt are you, or that bird-seed stuff?"

"Muesli? Course not, I want my eggs, thank you very much, or maybe beans on toast, I haven't decided."

"Fond memories of that for tea after school."

"And me. And fish fingers and beans."

"And sausages and beans. You remember those awful things they used to serve at school – funny shaped things they called lamb cutlets? They had this stuff on them, breadcrumbs, and you got watery mint sauce with them? That was my first introduction to lamb."

"Oh dear, well, I grew up on a farm, meat was a staple part of the diet. Lamb, pork chops, roasting joints and potatoes and thick gravy."

"Sounds perfect."

"My Grandpa used to do that horrid thing with the beef dripping on huge slices of bread."

"Mine too, on a Sunday afternoon. Not a fan?"

"God no, it's pure fat!" she let go of his arm as they reached the gravel path that led into the car park. "Come on, I can finally take these weights off my feet."

* * *

Charles waited by the bar as Elsie nipped to the toilets, eyeing the young man who occupied the table by the fire. He only had a cup of coffee and Charles refused to sit unless he could have that table; he'd imagined them sitting there together, eating and chatting and sharing a pot or two of tea. She'd chosen the last venue and it had been perfect for their first date; he'd chosen this venue and he wanted it to be equally as perfect.

"I thought you were finding a seat," Elsie said as she returned to him. "There's a table by the window."

"It's behind the door, it'll be draughty there." he touched her elbow, "Look, there's a table there, by the fire."

"It's occupied."

"He's on his last dregs of coffee. Let's order a pot of tea and wait for the table. Keep your eyes peeled though."

"I feel we're on a spy mission all-of-a-sudden. And you call me crazy." she chuckled.

Turning to the bar she took a menu and flipped it open, scanning the breakfast list.

Charles ordered tea and positioned himself so he could see over Elsie's head to his much-coveted table.

"How come you don't like walking, given that you grew up on a farm?"

"Oh, I don't know." she shrugged, taking the lid from the teapot and stirring the leaves into the water to hasten along the brewing. "I don't remember walking as a child, just working on it."

"I've always thought it a double-edged sword, farm life, your own boss, all that glorious countryside and yet it must be hard, _hard_ work."

"It is. And we hardly live in a warm climate, the majority of the time it's blistering cold, pinching your cheeks, puckering your skin. I never felt warm, even when in bed at night."

"You worked on the farm? Tell me a bit about it."

"Well, I wouldn't say 'worked'. I helped out when I wasn't at school. Cleaned, fed, dug, sowed seeds," she shrugged, "whatever my Father needed. I delivered produce when I could drive, thirteen or fourteen."

"You were driving at thirteen?"

"The tractor earlier! When it was needed."

"You must have been strong. Ooh, wait, he's moved…" he grabbed her bag from the floor and quickly headed to the now free table.

Elsie smiled to herself as she lifted the tray from the bar and carried over their tea things.

"Well, that was gentlemanly."

"Sorry, I would've gone back for it, didn't want to miss the table." he moved the pots to another table and made room for their tray. "There, this is better." he said as they settled down. "So, you were saying."

"I think I'd finished."

"Oh no, don't. Tell me more about it."

"There's not much to tell. I wasn't much of a farm hand; my father didn't think so, anyhow. I always wanted to be out elsewhere, doing something else. And the moment I started making suggestions about how it could be better run… well, that didn't go down too well."

"Oh."

"Doesn't matter. It wasn't my business to run."

"Are you always so down on yourself?" he asked, watching her over his mug of tea.

She looked up sharply, her smile fading, "What makes you think I am?"

"I have a suspicion that the bright smile and sarcastic comments may just be some kind of cover."

"And what would I be covering?" she said, pouring more tea into her mug.

"I'm not sure yet."

"Don't you think that's presumptuous, to ask such a thing?"

"Perhaps. And with anyone else I wouldn't dream of doing it. But you and I are a little different, and we promised to be straight with each other."

"Straight, not rude."

"I apologise, if you feel I was rude."

He put his mug down and she refilled his too. "No, you weren't. And maybe I do use it as a cover, being self-deprecating comes easily."

"I know that feeling. It's easier, sometimes, to mock yourself than have others do it for you."

"You seem so… 'together', who would ever mock you? You're…" she waved her hand at him.

"Yes?"

"You're just, or you seem… _solid_." She finally settled on.

He laughed, "That sounds awful."

"I meant it kindly, you seem grounded, confident in who you are."

"Which is why I made such a fool of myself over you the other week."

"That was different, that was an odd situation, something unexpected. I suspect you're a man who likes to prepare for things. Have it all sorted in his head before he goes ahead and makes a decision."

"You might be right there, but I've made my choice on breakfast, I'm that hungry I'm just going to have everything." he pushed his chair back from the table. "Shall I go place our order?"

"Please. Scrambled eggs for me, and bacon, and brown toast."

"Got it."

"Thank you."

She watched him at the bar, fiddling with her teaspoon in the saucer. Something was happening here and she wasn't quite sure of it, something she hadn't felt for a very long time. Why must she doubt it so?

Outside, the heavy sky had released its snow and it caught her attention. She shifted her chair round, moving closer to his so she could see it.

"There, all done." he laid their ticket on the table. "I ordered juice too." He glanced at her face, at the teaspoon being turned in her hand. "Elsie? You with me?"

"Mmm." she tilted her head towards him, "Don't you think everything seems quieter when it's snowing?"

"I suppose it has that affect. And cleaner too. Purer."

"I like it."

"Me too. As long as I don't have to drive in it."

"We're not set up for it here, are we?" She smiled, lifting her mug of tea. "No infrastructure."

"We don't put the money in, whole country stops on a few inches." He got to his feet, moving to the window to take a look outside. "Not settling yet," he assured her. "We'll be alright."

She smiled warmly at him, he was a very, _very_ nice man and she was so enjoying spending time with him.

"What's that look for?" he asked as he returned to his seat.

"Nothing," she shrugged, "just thinking. So, where are you taking me for the third date?"

"Oh we're planning ahead, are we?" he refilled their mugs again, "We need more tea. And I'm going to have to ponder the date thing, make it good."

"A third date is a milestone," she said teasingly.

"Oh? Is it?" he sat back in his chair, crossing his legs at the ankle, watching her converse dangling as she playfully tipped her foot back and forth in the air. "Now I feel pressure."

"Third date must mean it's going well. One can be a fluke. Two to check if it's worth really bothering with. Third…"

"Full blown dating." he said, his eyes bright as he stared at her, fingers laced together beneath his chin.

"Something like that."

She felt drawn to him – a wintry morning, the warmth of the open fire, the gentle falling of the snow and this man. This lovely, kind man.

"Tell me something about your childhood then," she said, "you don't have siblings?"

"No. Just me. My mother… my mother was an odd sort, product of her generation I guess. Starched apron, home cooking, clean house… it was the sixties, but she was definitely still stuck in the early-fifties. She didn't talk very much, my mother, still doesn't. Keeps things bottled up, it's part of the reason I fear that she…" He felt his chest tighten, throat close up.

"I'm sorry," she suddenly placed her hand on his knee, there was sadness in his eyes. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"It's not… you didn't." he covered her hand with his and, to his relief, she didn't pull away. "My mother isn't well. In fact, she's in a home now, which breaks my heart but…" he closed his eyes momentarily. "I couldn't…"

"You don't have to explain to me."

He looked up at her; she was leaning close to him, her thumb rubbing against his hand.

"We've all got things we'd rather keep hidden. Baggage we have to carry." she said.

"I don't want to hide it from you, just, now's not the time for the conversation."

"I understand. Tell me something else, your favourite film, colour, cartoon character."

He laughed, "Can't possibly pick one film. Blue. And probably Fred Flintstone, I remember watching The Flintstones as a child, I loved it, mainly because the main character was built like me – _sturdy_!"

She smiled, "Similar hair too, now you mention it. Least you've got a go-to fancy dress outfit, should you need it."

"Oh Lord," he leant back in his chair, licking his lips nervously.

"What?"

"You as Wilma."

"Ohhh…" her eyes flashed and she stretched out her legs in front of her, almost preening. "So you'd go for Wilma, not Betty then?"

"I mean, if either wanted to marry me, I wouldn't say no. But Wilma…" he shrugged his shoulders, raised his eyebrows, "it's the white dress, you know?"

She chuckled, "Oh, I think I know."

"You remember the episode of Red Dwarf where they discussed this?"

"Oh my god, you're a Red Dwarf fan?" She almost gasped in excitement.

"Aren't you?"

"Of course, it's our generation, isn't it? 'She'd never leave Fred', remember?"

"I do. And they're right, she wouldn't. Who's your favourite character?"

"Cat. Without a doubt. The bit where they put the milk on the floor…" She laughed mid-sentence, cutting herself off.

"Oh yeah, ' _You_ _monkeys_ _eat off_ _the_ _floor_ _! Ain't you got no style or sophistication?_ '" He imitated the character.

They laughed together, her hand landing on his arm and squeezing. "I'm so impressed that you remembered that."

"It stayed with me, never seen anything like it before."

"We need to watch that together too, I'll add it to the list. Maybe a rainy day date."

"That sounds nice," he delighted in her hand on his arm. "Toasties and tea."

"Yes. Cheese and onion toasties."

"Cheese and ham."

"One of each?"

"Deal." he took her hand and shook it.

She sat back, comfortable in the oversized leather armchair, still giggling as the waitress brought over their breakfast. The fire was warm and she felt lethargic, with the snow falling and the lovely atmosphere of the place, and the conversation flowing so easily.

Charles draped his napkin over his lap, sitting forward eagerly – he'd dreamt of this almost as much as he'd dreamt of their date.

"Are you tucking in?" he said, lifting his fork to his mouth.

"Yes, of course." she sat forward, unfolding her napkin. "Juice?"

"Please and thank you."

She poured for them both, took a drink of her own and reflected on how easy this seemed to be. Just like that first morning, sitting in his cozy kitchen having tea and toast. It was nice. Unexpectedly nice.

* * *

"You asked about my mother," he said later, as they walked from the pub and through the village. The snow was thicker now, and her arm was looped through his, half for balance, half for the comfort of it.

"I did," she said softly, casting a sideways glance to him, watching as a flake of snow melted on his nose.

"She's in a home. It got to the point where she couldn't take care of herself – had a few accidents, forgot things – things like whether the hob was on, whether the door was locked. I went to visit and it was wide open, she was freezing cold in the lounge staring at _This Morning_. Her bag stuffed full of her money just lying there in the hall. Turned out she was just getting her pension and stuffing it into her bag."

She rubbed his arm.

"Sometimes I think she should be with me, but I didn't know what to do. How to handle it. I'd been away for so long, we hardly knew each other anymore. My father died years ago, throat cancer, smoked all his life. I flew home for the funeral, made sure she was all right, stayed a couple of months but then left again. She was feisty, you know, did her own thing, I thought she'd be fine."

"Guilt, I often think, is the most terrible of sins," she said softly. "And you mustn't carry it around."

"Perhaps not."

She sighed, "Not that easy is it. Here I am telling you not to do that when I do exactly the same."

She let go of his arm as they reached the car, waiting at the side as he unlocked it.

"How often do you visit?" she asked as they got in.

"Three times a week; two mornings, one evening. Sometimes it's fine, we play Checkers, do The Times crossword. Other days she's not quite sure who I am."

She nodded, buckling up her seatbelt and glancing to the clock, it was after one already but she'd thoroughly enjoyed their time together and felt rather sorry it was coming to an end.

"Do you see your father?" he asked, reversing out of the space.

Now she turned away, looking out of the window to the settling snow, to children in wellington boots running across the car park.

"Careful," she said, "they aren't looking where they're going."

He stopped, and they watched as a boy and girl raced before them, towards the gate that led to the open field. Their father trailed behind, a plastic sledge under each arm.

"Best get you home," he said. "Before it gets too bad."

* * *

Again, he walked her up the driveway to her door, pausing beneath the porch and watching as she dug out her keys and unlocked the door.

"You want to come in?" she asked, turning back to him.

"Don't you have work to do?"

"I do."

He smiled, "It's alright. I'm having drinks with friends this evening and I wanted to do a few jobs before that."

"But you'll call me?"

He allowed himself a jolt of pride at that – she wanted to see him as much as he wanted to see her.

"Yes. Once I've figured a suitable date."

"It doesn't have to be anything wonderful. We could go for a drink one night, just to chat."

"I'd like that. Maybe Wednesday?"

"I think I'm free, can I let you know?"

"Of course."

She nodded, shuffled her handbag on her arm and shivered in the cold air.

"Well, thank you Elsie."

"Thank you. I enjoyed it."

"Despite the walk."

"I kinda enjoyed that too, bedding my boots in."

"Remember what I said about drying them, and cleaning them."

She bit the tip of her tongue, holding her smile back, "Will do."

"Okay," he stepped from foot-to-foot, feeling incredibly childish all of a sudden. "So, Wednesday."

"See you then. Hopefully."

"Yes." he stepped back, nodding at her.

"Charles," she asked, smiling. "Shouldn't we…?"

"Shouldn't we?" his eyebrows rose as he frowned.

She shook her head, leaning forward and kissing his mouth very gently before backing away again.

"Oh." he said lowly, "that."

"Yes. That."

This time he moved, capturing her mouth very sweetly in a deep kiss, his hand on her upper arm, hers pressed against his stomach, trapped between them.

"Goodbye," she whispered, stepping back towards the door.

"Bye." he grinned foolishly.

She watched as he headed back to his car, the snow a few inches deep now, his boots crunching against it as he walked.

Inside she listened to his car drive away, propped her boots on the mat by the door, pushed her converse off, her scarf, coat, gloves, and stood before the mirror looking at herself. Her skin looked pale, chipped with cold, but her mouth was plump from his kiss, lips red.

She closed her eyes, her chest tight, a sense of anxiousness rising inside her, taking her breath as it moved through her body.

And for a long time she stood there, letting the tears roll down her cheeks.

* * *

 ** _Well, I hope you enjoyed. Date 3 shouldn't be too far off._**


	7. Chapter 7

_Sorry for delay in this. Work, life, that kind of stuff..._

 _...but how odd to be actually posting it on the day it's set on!_

* * *

 **Chapter 7**

 **Wednesday, 3** **rd** **February**

By Wednesday the snow has reached the slushy, grey stage – clumped together along street edges, melting in the gutter. In the main part of the city it has all but disappeared; the only traces can be found frozen around trees in pots that stand decoratively along the cobbled walkways.

Elsie is still in her fur-lined boots though, and jeans, they're only having a drink after all and she sees no reason to go over the top. She thinks she knows him well-enough now to know he doesn't need a low cut dress or silky stockings to convince him of her charms. She has worn a sparkly jumper though; she does like a splash of style.

She's early, which is quite unlike her, and despite it being a Wednesday night it's fairly busy in the bar so she orders a glass of wine and searches around until she finds two high-backed chairs in a corner by a window. Every day it's getting lighter earlier, but now, at almost 19:00, it's too dark for her to see very much at all outside so she fiddles with her phone, assuming he'll ring when he arrives.

Watching the goings-on in bars has always entertained her and tonight is no different. Sexual politics, female competition, male jokery and bravado. Workmates calling for a swift one of the way home, couples staying for dinner, students just living… _just living_ … how nice that sounds. She muses on that thought as she sips her wine, it is nice just be enjoying life, and she is enjoying it, she's enjoying this new part of it especially. Two months ago she didn't even know who Charles Carson was; just over a month ago she thought him company on another lonely New Year's Eve. And now… she's not quite certain what she thinks he is now. But it's all quite lovely and she hasn't looked forward to spending time with someone the way she looks forward to seeing him in a very long time.

Just the thought of another evening with him makes her smile, a full smile, where she feels her cheeks stretch and it's uncontrollable. Unbidden. She covers it with her hand, biting back a silly girlish giggle.

She doesn't like to think of her tears on Sunday or analyse where they came from. Instead she dried her eyes, brushed the memory of it aside and worked hard for the rest of the afternoon to drown out any concerns. By Monday morning the anxious feeling in her chest had dulled and there have been no tears since.

When her phone rings it startles her and she almost drops it, grappling with it as she turns it over in her hand.

"Hi," she smiles.

"Hello, are you here?"

"At the back, in a chair with a very high back."

"Okaaay," he chuckles, "do you want a drink?"

"No, I'm fine. But perhaps some crisps?"

"You're peckish?"

"A little."

"Right. Won't be a minute."

It takes him seven minutes, to be precise. She watches the time on her phone from end of call until he is striding towards her, smiling and looking wonderful – all ruffled hair and kind eyes.

She stands as he puts his beer down, steps to the side of the table and presses her hands to his lower arms, his find their way around her and she feels herself drawn into an embrace.

"Hi again," he says by her ear.

She shifts her face to look at him, "Hi," and then kisses him, just once, enough for him to grin like a fool.

"Where are my crisps?" She asks as she sits down again and he sets about taking off his coat and scarf.

"Hang on, I ordered a couple of bowls of chips. I'm starving, crisps didn't seem enough." He digs around in his coat pocket, pulling out little sachets of salt, pepper, ketchup, mayonnaise and, lastly, vinegar. "Didn't know which you'd prefer."

"Quite the collection," she covers them with her hand, absently starts turning them over and forming lines along the table. "And chips sound gre…" she starts but then covers her mouth, coughing into her hand.

"You okay?"

She nods, reaching for her wine, "Start of a cold, I think…"

"Some water?"

"Maybe next time we go to the bar. I'm sorry, I kissed you didn't I?" she blushes leaning back in the chair. "How awful, I could've passed on my germs."

"I'll take the risk. Believe me." He takes a long drink of his beer, holding her gaze, his eyes smiling. "You taken anything for it?"

"Not yet. I'm so terrible with this things," she coughs again, moving the scarf she's wearing around her neck. "Oh I'm sorry. I hate being ill."

"I'm not sure many people enjoy it, Elsie, to be honest."

"Ha ha."

He grins, crossing one long leg over another – teasing her is delightful.

"How's your day been?" She asks. "Your week so far, actually?"

"Not bad. Took a new booking, which is good, because it's for at least a six-month post, they want a butler and maid, down in Coventry."

"How do people afford these things?"

He shrugged, "Don't know, don't care, long as we get paid and it keeps me in M&S meals."

"Ahh, you're an M&S man. Not a shock. I bet your other choice is Waitrose."

"I do like to trawl the markets though, for good veg…" he smiled, "bread. More often than not bread. Croissants, chocolate, gooey things…"

"Sweet tooth."

"Like you wouldn't believe. Apple pie, apricot tart, flans, scones, biscuits… I can get through packets and packets of Dark Chocolate Digestives dunked in tea. What's your weakness? Or weaknesses?"

"Bread, I really like olive bread too, and Lurpak butter – don't bother with that light version, I want full-fat salted if I'm having it."

"I fully support that."

"Sweet wise – ice-cream, I have a weakness for, and I'm partial to a Jaffa Cake."

"Ahh, biscuit or cake?"

"Well, they're on the biscuit aisle in Sainsbury's so…"

"Question answered."

A young girl arrived with a tray holding two bowls of chips; she took the ticket from Charles, put the bowls on the table and left them alone with minimal fuss.

"You think they get charm training here?" He asked, dripping vinegar onto his chips.

"Oh hush, she can only have been…seventeen? I suppose she doesn't really know herself let alone how to talk to customers."

"No excuse. They should train them. I was dealing with customers aged thirteen."

"You're an incredible person though," she popped a chip into her mouth. "And these are homemade and wonderful."

"They are." he agreed. "And thanks… I like to hear you think me…what was it? _Incredible?_ What other things do you think about me?"

"Fishing for compliments are we?"

"Third date. Make or break, you said."

"You've bought me chips, I think we'll make it to a fourth."

He felt his heart pound against his ribs, the realisation that she wanted to spend time with him, that she liked him, was interested in him. He knew she was being flippant with the comment, but god he thought her an incredible person too, he wished he could just say it without sounding like a complete dork.

"So, have you thought about it? Because I'm not counting this as a date planned by you, not really. This is just a drink and a chat."

"I have actually," he licked the salt and vinegar from his fingers. "This Saturday, only there's a poetry recital on I wanted to attend and I wondered if you'd like to come with me. You don't have to, of course, just if you're free and fancy it. We can do something else if…"

"I think that would be very nice. How long does it last?"

"No more than a couple of hours, I guess. Why?"

"Dinner, maybe, after?"

"Yes." He says immediately. "I'll book somewhere."

"That would be lovely."

The chips are gone, and their drinks empty.

"I'll get another," she says, taking out her purse. "What did you have?"

"Some ale, whatever they have that's local. Best to support the community."

He watches her walk to the bar, knowing she's aware of his eyes on her body. He follows the curve of her bottom in the jeans, the dip of her waist, the way her hair hangs loose about her shoulders, and he's overcome with the memory of how she smells. That night in the dark on Robert's path being overwhelmed by her fragrance.

It's ridiculous really, they've only had three dates, and yet he feels he knows her already. And he wants to wrap her in his arms, feel her body against his, bury his face in her hair.

Instead, he is a gentleman. But then, Carson always is. He lost it at the start, nearly scared her off, god knows how he convinced her to give him another go but he's not going to risk scaring her again. So, her pace, her tempo.

"There you are."

"Thank you my dear." His mouth is dry from the salt and he takes a long drink, licking his lips and watching as she repeatedly sneezes into a tissue.

"Sorry."

"You should take a day off, stay in bed, sleep it out of your system."

"Too much to do."

"How are the plans going?"

"Nothing's changed really, it moves at a snail's pace, house buying. But we had an issue with one of the local properties this weekend, the snow and the cold… boiler stopped working, one of the walls is damp. I need to go supervise the work tomorrow. I've had to have a new builder because the one I used for years retired at Christmas. You want to make sure you're getting a good job, a good worker, you know. I trusted the old guy, now I've got to build that relationship again."

"You're quite the savvy businesswoman, aren't you?"

"Well, I know my way around an accounts book, if that's what you mean. And I think I'm a fair landlady, but I expect my renters to follow my rules too."

"They keep the places well though, don't they, students? I mean, they're paying for it."

She smiled into her wine glass, "Erm, I think you might need to come down from your cloud and re-join the human race."

"Really? They treat the houses badly?"

"Some do. Yes. But I'm not stupid, I may not have travelled the world, like you, but I don't live in a sack neither. We visit the properties; check the appliances, the condition of things. If there's a problem I give them a week to sort it out – if I'm tripping over pizza boxes in the hallway they're already on a slippery slope towards the exit."

"Hard taskmaster."

"Surely you are too, in your line of work?"

"Absolutely. I don't stand for sloppiness. There have been plenty of applicants who don't make the grade."

Her eyes widened, "You don't give them a second chance? Those who want to be globe-trotting butlers?"

He sighed, "There are plenty of little boys who want to be famous cricketers. It's not enough to make them champions."

Elsie chuckled, which led to coughing again, she doubled forward and Charles got up, heading to the bar to get her a glass of water.

"Here, drink this."

She did as he requested.

"I didn't think I was so funny."

"Sorry," she gasped for air, "it wasn't that." she smiled again, "it just made me laugh." Looking to his concerned face made her burst into giggles again and he placed his hand on her wrist.

"What? What's so funny?"

"Just life," she shrugged, "just life."

"That's very elusive."

She sneezed again before she could respond, covering her face with a tissue.

"Alright, enough, we need to get you home. I don't think being out on a winter's night is helping."

"Are you always so bossy?"

"Just practical is all." He got to his feet; taking her coat from the back of her chair and holding it open for her. "You won't be of use to anyone dead."

"Now there's a cheery thought."

She was laughing again as he helped her into her coat.

"I think you've drunk too much wine."

"I've had a glass and a half." she searched in her handbag for her gloves, "Short date."

"Yes. Can't be helped."

They made their way out onto the street and he scanned for a taxi.

"You want to come back with me, have a cup of tea?"

He raised his eyebrows, not at all sure if she just meant 'tea' or something else, or even if they were at that stage.

She watched his face, and bit the inside of her cheek. "I do just mean 'tea' Charles, not sex, not yet."

He spluttered in response, waving his hand at an approaching taxi, "Sometimes, Ms Hughes, you're too sassy for your own good."

* * *

In her lounge he did what every person on the edges of a relationship does. They snoop for clues about their potential partner. He hadn't had the chance to do this the last time he was there, not with Beryl and Isobel and Anna in the room. But now, alone as she made tea, he could snoop without fear.

He scanned the framed pictures that stood on the cupboard shelves – friends he recognised, some he didn't. Pictures of her when she was young with long, dark hair, two people either side of her who were clearly her parents, a younger girl who looked similar – her sister?

She obviously had a soft spot for gothic horror, given that her bookshelf was stacked with them. And the paintings on the wall were of local spots, countryside, bold strokes, bright colours.

Nothing too fussy, yet nothing too minimal. He liked her taste, he could settle on that. Two comfy matching sofas that faced each other, a dark wood coffee table in the middle. Flat screen television in the corner, clearly fancy and modern, not like his old thing that fluttered to life when the electricity drip-fed into it.

He took a seat, folded his hands in his lap. She had a black statuette on the mantelpiece above the log burner; he couldn't work out what it was – it seemed like a female, naked, he thought, but he didn't want to presume. He was twisting his head trying to work it out when she came in with a tray carrying their tea things.

"It's two women," she said, clearly amused.

"What? I wasn't…"

"It's two women." she put the tray down on the coffee table and set about pouring their tea. "They are intertwined. One is reading – seeking knowledge, the other is holding herself, comforting herself, they're two halves of the same person."

"This is baffling to me," he said as he tried to make sense of the limbs.

"It is to most people, but I like it, I liked it as soon as I saw it." She passed his tea across, "one sugar, yes?"

"Yes."

She was kneeling on the rug as she poured and he found it endearing.

"You feeling any better?"

"I took some of those Lemsip tablet things, not kicked in yet. My head hurts from coughing."

"I won't stay long."

"I did invite you, Charles, no need to run away."

"I don't want to impose."

"You aren't," she shifted on the rug, stretching her legs out and wiggling her toes. She was wearing socks with stars on and he found that endearing too.

"You find me amusing," he stated, sitting back on the sofa, "ridiculous."

She looked up sharply, her nose wrinkled, "why ever would you say that?"

"You were laughing at me, weren't you, in the pub?"

"Not 'at you', not… not like that," she shook her head, desperate to make him understand, she didn't want him thinking badly of her. "It was just how you said it, it was just." She sighed, "You remind me of my father, I suppose. He would say something so matter-of-fact like that, be cruel to be kind is what he would say though, not dress it up as a cricketing story."

He felt the tightness in his chest subside, "You mentioned your father the other day…" he prompted.

"I did," she sipped her tea, staring into her mug and avoiding his gaze.

"You don't speak much of your family."

"Well, you haven't spoken much about yours neither."

"Maybe not," he agreed. "It's okay, if you don't like to, just so I know, then I won't venture there again."

"It's alright, I mean it's nothing horrible… not like…" she tapped her nails against her mug, "I disappointed him, that's all. I say 'that's all' like it was a simple thing, it wasn't of course, not at the time."

"How could you possibly disappoint anyone?" he asked, without really thinking through his statement and she chuckled at the sincerity of his words.

"Oh believe me, I'm sure I've disappointed a fair few people over the years, in one way or another."

"You said…" he paused, shaking his head, "New Year's Day, you remember _that_ embarrassment?"

She moved again, tucking her legs beneath her, "From what I recall, I found a handsome man on my doorstep bearing flowers."

"Yes, well," he bustled, rubbing the bridge of his nose as his cheeks flushed. "On that night you said, you told me, that I shouldn't get upset over you, because you weren't worth it."

"Oh?" her voice was soft. "I did, did I?"

He nodded, "I wondered what you meant, why you were so down on yourself."

"I think that's probably more than a quick conversation."

"To do with your father?"

"To do with lots of things," she sat forward, putting her mug on the coffee table

"I'm sorry, I've made you uncomfortable."

"No, not really. My legs ache in this position is all." she got to her feet, moving to sit beside him on the sofa and he turned, positioning himself so that they could look at each other.

"My father was a hard taskmaster," he said, "but we were very similar, the best of friends."

"That's lovely. My father worked hard too, still does, in fact he doesn't know when to stop. And we got on very well, I was his sidekick for many years, I think he hoped for a son but instead he got me. But I was sharp and I was strong and for a long time I think he forgot he wanted a son. But I let him down."

"How so?"

"I was meant to marry, Joe would take over the farm when Dad got too old, inherit it through me. He was embarrassed, when I pulled out of the wedding at the last minute, I embarrassed him in front of the whole village and he didn't quite know what to do about that. And then I left, moved to England, didn't go back within a couple of months begging for forgiveness. So I disappointed him, because it wasn't what he'd dreamed of for me."

"That's not your fault, you can't live for somebody else's dream."

"Maybe not, but I carry the guilt nevertheless." She shrugged, "I shouldn't have let it get that far, with Joe, I knew I didn't love him, not really, not how you're meant to lo…" she paused, looked sharply at him. "Well, maybe some people do. They marry; settle, because somebody is there who wants to marry _them_. I had this fanciful idea of marrying for nothing short of passionate, romantic love."

"You _had_?"

She smiled, "I'm older now, I don't quite believe in the fairy tale anymore."

"That's a shame."

"I still want to be swept off my feet, mind," she joked, briefly resting her hand on his leg.

He put his mug down, "I will endeavour to sweep."

Charles grinned at her as she giggled at his statement.

"I'm imagining you with a giant brush now, like Dick Van Dyke."

"Oh right, ' _I'm a cockney chimney-sweep Mary Poppins_.'"

"That was the most ridiculous accent! Honestly, if we all spoke like that."

"Or in the impeccably phrased Queen's English."

She laughed again, "You're very good at accents."

"I try my best to entertain."

"I bet you're wonderful with children."

"You mean when I'm not being such a stick-in-the-mud?"

"Oh rubbish, I bet they love Uncle Charlie – you're tall and strong, you can play the giant in their games."

"I guess I do always get lumbered with that role, my cousin has children, three of them, all under seven."

"Goodness, they worked fast."

Charles laughed, "Yes, I suppose they did."

"Do you have pictures?"

"Not here, at my flat, I'll show you next time you come over."

"I'd like that."

He nodded; he wanted to kiss her, longed to, actually, she was so very lovely, sitting there across from him. So close, and yet not quite close enough for him to just lean in and do it, he'd have to move, or she would. And he felt incredibly clumsy about doing all that.

"What's wrong?"

"Sorry?"

"You're frowning. What's wrong?"

He looked to her face, her eyes sparkled mischievously and her bottom lip was pressed between her teeth, the flesh pinking where she bit it.

"I want to kiss you," he blurted out, filling his chest with air. "In fact, I desperately want to kiss you, and not appear an old fool."

"Oh, goodness, as if you could." She sat forward, moving closer to him, one leg tucked beneath her on the sofa. "You _desperately_ want to kiss me?"

"Don't laugh at me again."

"I wouldn't." she pressed one hand against his cheek, rubbing the slightly bristly skin with her thumb. "You're a very dear man."

"I don't want to push too quickly this time, put you off."

He watched as her tongue licked her bottom lip before disappearing back inside her mouth, "I don't think we're going too fast. This is just lovely, isn't it?"

"Very."

"Can something be 'very lovely'? It sounds odd."

She was cut off by his lips pressing against hers, so quickly it knocked the air from her and she moaned into the kiss like she hadn't been kissed for an eternity.

Charles took pride in that, easing his arms around her back, gently, hands wide across her spine, palms taking in every nuance of shape and warmth. He noted she did the same, one arm sliding around his back to hold onto him, the other hand slipping to his shoulder, her fingers stroking the side of his neck.

Oh but it was delicious. Every second of it. Her sweet, warm mouth on his, the feel of her tongue pressing against his, the gentle hum of pleasure that occasionally escaped her. He could kiss her for an eternity and still seek more.

Elsie was the one to pull back, biting down on her bottom lip and smiling sheepishly.

"You're laughing at me again," he stated.

"Am I?" she whispered.

"Well, you're smiling, anyhow."

"I was just remembering how good a kisser you are."

His eyes widened, "I am?"

"Don't act coy with me, Mr Carson."

He chuckled, shaking his head as he leant in to kiss her again.

"Ah, I think we should stop."

"Oh?"

"I don't want you to catch my cold."

"I've already told you, I don't care."

He pressed his mouth hungrily against hers again and she melted against his chest; it seemed to her she was melting for him from the inside out.

It would be easy to fall back, let their bodies entwine, to hold him, feel him… but the truth was, she was rather enjoying taking things slowly, which seemed entirely ironic given where they started but still, she was a woman, she could be as contrary as she liked.

Pressing her hand against his chest she pushed against him, drew their kiss to a close with a soft press of her lips against his.

Charles drew in a tight breath, rested his forehead against hers and for a few seconds simply enjoyed the feeling of being near her, the post-kiss euphoria.

"So," he finally said, "Saturday then?"

"I'm already looking forward to it."

He placed his hand against her cheek, took in the endearing expression upon her face.

"I'm really enjoying spending time with you, Elsie."

"And I you."

* * *

 **Saturday, 6** **th** **February**

Charles realises, as he pulls up onto the drive, that it's the first time he's parked there and not on the road. This fact doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of things. Only somehow, it does.

He grabs the carrier bag from the boot, checks that the plastic tub that he'd wedged in the bottom hadn't leaked, and heads to the door at the side of her property.

Tugging nervously on the bottom of his jacket he waits as the hall light comes on, he'd only spoken to her a few hours before and yet he was full of nervous anticipation at the thought of seeing her again.

Of course it had been clear from their conversation yesterday that she'd never make the date, she'd spent most of her time in bed or on the sofa since he'd left her Wednesday night and her cold wasn't yet easing up.

He's partly relieved and partly nervous when a figure, hunched and moving slowly, unlocks and opens the door.

"Hi," he says brightly, holding up his hand before she can speak. "You sounded really down on the phone, and I didn't like to think of you here on your own feeling ill."

"I look like rubbish," she says, pulling her dressing gown tighter around her. "And you're missing your poetry."

"Don't worry about that. I gave the tickets away."

"Charles!" she chastised.

"And you don't look like rubbish," he smiles warmly. "You look lovely."

"Charles," she said again, her cheeks flushing.

"So, I brought you supplies," he held up the plastic bag.

"Come in," with a shake of her head she steps back from the door, trying her best to tidy her hair in the mirror as she moves.

Charles knows his way around a house; it'd been his job – his life – to know what his employers needed and wanted before they did. To be silent, an invisible presence. And so, as he toes off his shoes and heads into her kitchen, she is rather impressed by the manly ease he has suddenly brought into the house.

"So," he says, laying the bag on the table and emptying out the contents. "These are the best tissues I think, so you need them."

She sinks into a chair at the table, watching him with an amused smile on her face.

"Thank you."

"There's more. Honey, lemon – I know you don't like lemon but look, you're Scottish so I figure you'll have whisky, so I can make you a hot toddy up, for your throat."

"I could just drink the whisky and knock myself out."

"Yes, you could," he laughs, taking out the plastic tub. "My Gran always made chicken soup when I was ill. This isn't her recipe, I don't think she had one; she just made it up. So, its mine. Got it from some book then spent years messing with it until it was just right. You said you had a slice of toast for lunch, that bothered me, so I made you soup."

"You're incredibly sweet."

"Well," he glances away, his hands resting on top of the tub. "You don't have to eat it now or anything. I just wanted to bring you a few things. Make sure you were okay."

"You mean you aren't going to warm it for me? Bring it through on a tray with a rose and a candle?" She splutters, her throat is dry and the effort to talk makes her cough. She opens the box of tissues, takes one out and covers her mouth; Charles is already getting her a glass of water.

"I'll warm the soup, if you don't mind me staying."

She shakes her head, "I'm glad of the company," and takes a drink of the water. "I've been going stir-crazy being on my own."

"See, I can be of use."

"Clearly you're a lot of use," she points out, indicating the array of goodies on the table. "Something else in that bag?"

"Ah yes, ice-cream."

"Ice-cream?"

"Mint ice-cream, I always found it soothing on a sore throat."

"Wonderful idea," she coughed again, shivering in her dressing gown. "It'll need…" she covered her mouth, bending forward as the coughs wracked her body.

"Hey, I can find the freezer." He rested his hand on her back, brushing his palm in soothing circles, "Come on, let's get you settled down again."

He followed her through to the lounge, noted the pillows stacked up on the sofa so she could face the television, the quilt folded back, the coffee table had been moved beside the sofa to make for ease of access.

"Thank you," she said, as he helped her lay down and pulled the quilt up over her. "Like a nursemaid."

"I can be," he pressed his hand to her forehead. "You warm enough?"

"Not at the moment."

He turned to the log burner, noted the dwindling flames, "I'll put another log in here?"

She nodded, pointing to the basket stacked with them. "Use the handle to…" she imitated opening the front of it and he followed her gaze, took the tool hanging by the side and opened the burner, putting in another log and some of the tightly rolled paper that lay in the basket too.

"Charles," she said, as he got to his feet. "Can you warm this for me?"

He noted the hot water bottle on the floor beside her, "Of course."

"And could you refill my water?"

He picked her glass up from the table, "I can."

"And…those tissues, I left them in the kitchen."

Charles stopped and stared down at her, one eyebrow quirked.

"What? Am I being bossy?"

He nodded, pursing his lips.

"I'm a woman, and a boss!" she laughed, "I am _quite_ bossy, you know."

"I suppose successful business people are."

"I like how you say 'business people'." She smiled, "But I guess you must be bossy in your job too."

"Very much so, though I prefer…commanding," he collected the water bottle from the floor. "And I've mellowed, a lot, as the years have gone by."

"I like mellow Charles," she said, reaching to touch his hand as he passed her.

"Won't be long."

"Help yourself to anything in my fridge."

* * *

The soup was good, in fact after days of barely eating anything and living off tea and Lemsip it tasted heavenly. She had two bowls and Charles munched his way through the cheese that was in her fridge, accompanied by crackers and chutney.

"So, now I've discovered you can cook," she said, settling back against the pillows.

"I wouldn't call soup cooking."

"Oh, I don't know. I suspect there might be more to you…more to come."

She tugged the blanket up over her chest and around her neck, and Charles grinned from his position on the opposite sofa.

"What? Do I look like an old woman?"

"You look gorgeous…still…" he said without thinking and she laughed at the comment.

"You're such a flirt."

His cheeks burned and he quickly got to his feet, "I'll go do the dishes."

"My own personal butler."

"Should've brought my uniform."

"Don't start down that track, down there danger awaits Will Robinson."

He shook his head as he piled their dishes onto a tray, "You baffle me."

"I baffle myself," she reached for the box of tissues, grabbing one just in time as she sneezed into it.

"Shall I make tea?"

"Yesss," she sneezed again, "I am sorry. Not attractive."

He thought he'd find her attractive no matter how ill.

"Won't be long."

"You don't have to do the dishes, you're a guest."

"It's no problem."

Elsie lay back and closed her eyes, listening to Charles running the water in the kitchen and filling the sink. Odd how she had the distinct feeling of being looked after, she'd never had that before, a man take care of her, not since she was a child suffering with an ear infection and her father had hardly left her side.

She missed him, her father, and to admit that to herself made her feel fragile.

Shaking away the thought she reached for the remote control and turned on the television. She flicked through at least twenty-odd channels before she recognised the familiar credits of Friends.

Turning up the volume she bent her legs beneath the blanket, tapping out the rhythm of the song on her knee with the remote.

"Here we go," Charles said, setting down the tray on the coffee table. "Tea."

"You're being very nice to me."

"Is that unexpected?"

"Perhaps."

She watched him pour, add milk, and hand the cup across to her.

"Thank you, I'm amazed at how easily you find your way around my kitchen."

"It's a skill."

"It is."

"What are we watching?"

"Friends."

"Some American thing?"

"You've never watched Friends?"

"Not knowingly."

"Ahh," she pouted as he moved to sit on the other sofa. "You're not sitting with me?" She wiggled her sock-clad toes, "you could stay by my feet."

He smiled as she shifted her legs for him, "I sense I'm going to be roped into something." He said as he plonked himself down on the end of the sofa.

"How suspicious you are." She pressed her toes against the side of his leg. "Thank you for coming to see me, it's not been much fun here on my own for the past three days. Apart from Beryl sending Bill with medicine."

"Who's he?"

"Who Bill?" Elsie asked, confused.

"No, this guy here?" He pointed at the screen. "The guy on the sofa."

"Oh, that's Ross. You see he's bought this new couch…"

"Sofa," Charles corrected.

"Sofa," Elsie sighed, "anyhow, he can't get it upstairs to his apartment."

"Flat."

"Language police," she dug her heel swiftly into his leg and his hand rested on top of her toes.

"These guys going to help him, then?"

"This is Rachel, his ex, and Chandler, his best friend. I can't believe it's 2016 and I'm explaining who the characters of Friends are."

"Sometimes the world passes me by."

"Clearly."

Elsie giggled as she watched the exchange between the characters, she felt Charles' hand slip down over the top of her foot, and she looked to his face, seeing him smile as the scene played out.

 _"_ _Turn…turn…turn…"_ Ross instructed and Charles let out a snort of laughter, "This is never going to work."

 _"_ _Pivot…pivot…pivot…pivot!"_

Elsie couldn't help but laugh herself as Charles shook with laughter at the opposite end of the couch, it delighted her to hear him let go like that, most of the time he seemed so bound by things that to hear him laugh so freely was a surprise to her.

"Are you a fan?" She asked, her throat tickling again as she spoke.

"A bit too early to tell, but that was very good. Which channel are we on?"

"Comedy central."

"I have no idea if I get that."

"When I come over I'll look for you."

He glanced at her, "You're coming over?"

"If I'm invited."

"Anytime." Charles squeezed her foot, noting how her legs were resting over his and her feet firmly planted in his lap. "So, I was thinking, and please don't feel you have to say 'yes' because that's not what this is about… and it might sound odd or awkward or something…"

"A-ha," Elsie muted the advertisements on the television.

"Because, you know, we're not into double figures on the dating front yet and people might think… or you might not want…"

"Charles," she said, stopping him. "Did you want to ask me something?"

"Well, the thing is, you see, the thing is…"

"Charles," she said again, smiling affectionately at him.

"Robert and Cora are hosting a Valentine's Weekend at Wood Hall, a fundraiser really, for the hospital. It's expensive but sounds good, lots of activities, lots of couples, grand old house… and you're smiling."

"I already know about it. Isobel told me, she sent me the email invite. In fact, I was thinking of asking you if you wanted to go."

"You were going to ask me?"

"Yes."

"But, had you changed your mind?"

"No. I was just building up to it."

He took a second to absorb her words then smiled, "So, you would like to accompany me?"

"I would."

"Wonderful," he almost clapped.

"Does that mean you want to accompany me too?"

"Oh, without question," he grinned, "I'm really looking forward to it now, I'll confirm our rooms."

"Rooms?"

"Yes," he dug his nails into the palm of his hand, "that is, unless you wanted just one room."

"Well, it is Valentine's Weekend, I'd rather not be alone in a four-poster bed…"

Suddenly his throat felt dry; in fact he remembered how he felt kneeling on that floor at Robert's party when she'd kissed him – utter desire and vulnerability when confronted by her.

"That is, if you want to share? I don't mind having a single if you think it too soon."

"God no," he said without thinking and her laughter rang out through the lounge until she started coughing again.

He poured more tea and handed it to her when she'd ceased coughing and eased herself to sit up again.

"Let's just hope I'm better by then," she finally said.

"You will be."

He turned his attention back to the television screen, but the truth was he couldn't stop smiling – they were going to spend Valentine's Weekend together, as a couple.

 _As a couple?_

He might have to clarify that at some point.

"How was your mother?"

"Oh, you know, the same," how quickly his smile faded. "Ill, actually, suffering with nosebleeds at the moment."

"That doesn't sound nice."

"No," he shook his head, "they seem to think it's an infection but she might have to go to the clinic for a closer inspection."

"You'll go with her?"

"Yes," he nodded, and she felt his hand cup her ankle through the blanket.

"You know, if you ever need someone to go with you, I don't mind."

He looked over to her, his teacup balanced in one hand, "You'd do that?"

"Of course, it's not always nice doing these things alone, I get that." She shrugged, "And I'm good with people, I can pretty much talk to anyone."

"That I believe." He sighed, finishing his tea. "Thank you, I don't really…" he leant forward, putting down his cup. "I don't really talk to anyone about her."

"That's not good, you should, it does no good carrying a burden around. Leaving it to fester…" she prompted.

He turned on the sofa so he could see her more easily, "I'm not sure I'm very good with the whole thing."

"How do you mean?"

"I don't think I'm a good son."

"Oh Charles," she pushed her hand out from beneath the blanket, instinctively sliding it across her stomach and down her leg towards him.

"I just don't do well with it. Seeing her in there, seeing her ill. I never know what to say. I just feel awkward."

"Well, find something to take that she'll like… old records, perhaps. Do you have any?"

"Lots. My father was a huge music fan; there are two boxes of vinyls in my spare room. I'm sure they're worth a fortune. Nothing to play them on though."

"We can fix that, easy enough to find one on Amazon."

He screwed his nose up.

"I can do it, I'll order one for you. It'll be here in a couple of days. Take some books, things she likes to read."

He nodded, "Yes," and squeezed her foot. "Thank you, for listening to me talk about this."

"There's nothing to thank, really. What's your mother's name?"

"Margaret," he said gently.

"That's nice. Favourite cake?"

"She's a Bakewell Tart fan."

"Good choice, well take some along with the record player and just have a couple of hours reminiscing perhaps – my Granny used to love to tell me stories. Between you and me, I think I was her favourite. We'd sit by the fire in the farmhouse kitchen, huge open fire you see, she had her chair and I'd be on the floor sprawled out listening to her." She touched hair without thinking about it, "Or she'd plait my hair, I had long hair then, had it cut when I was about twelve. But when I was seven, eight, it was right down my back, and my Granny would plait it and tell me stories and we'd just sit."

"That's lovely, I don't really remember my Gran, she died when I was only four. Adored my Grandpa though, same interests you see, all three of us."

She presumed he meant his father, from what little snippets he'd mentioned before.

"She forgot who I was in the end, my Granny. That was hard, I was a teenager when it happened and nobody really knew…" she shrugged, "nobody really spoke of it back then or knew what it was. Alzheimer's or dementia, certainly nobody explained it to me, as far as I know nobody in the hospital explained it to my parents. It was just old age."

"Yes. My Grandpa was lucky; he had this wonderfully sharp mind right up til the end. Just his…" he held his hands up, "lost control sometimes, in his hands."

"Oh."

"Heart attack, whilst turning over the garden, in the bright sunshine. My mother was there, hard for her you know, dealing with that. But he was a good age, as they say."

"What do you consider a 'good age' nowadays?"

"You mean, now I'm getting closer to it?" He smiled, "Well, he was 73, that seemed ancient to me then. Now, I'm not so sure. Late eighties, maybe, nineties…" He chuckled, "Christ knows what I'll look like, wrinkled and bent up old thing."

"Funny isn't it, how your perspective on things changes. At one point you can't wait to grow up and start living life."

"Yes. And then I get to my age and I wonder if I have really lived it."

"Don't say that, of course you have, you've travelled all over the world, been successful in a job you loved. You've lived."

"Alone though, Elsie, I've lived alone for most of my adult life. No wife, not even a long-term girlfriend, no children."

"You regret that?"

"Maybe, at times."

She licked her lips, "Well, technically you're not too old, find yourself a twenty-something girlfriend you could still have three of the little buggers before you reach seventy. Men have that advantage."

"Ha! Can you see me now with three little kids running about, I get tired hoovering the flat from one end to the other."

"Charles," she laughed. "No mention of the twenty-something."

"Yeah well, a man can dream."

"Oh really," she dug her heel into his leg again, "nice little blonde, is it? Stupidly thin yet somehow with gravity defying breasts."

"I'd say smart too, funny," he teased, puffing out his chest.

"I bet you would. Sporty I bet."

He laughed, resting both hands on her feet again, feeling her twitch her toes beneath the blanket as he looked across to her.

"Actually, I'm rather interested in somebody not too far away."

"Oh," she breathed, "somebody…?"

"Certain feisty woman, speaks her mind, amazing eyes, great smile, likes to laugh. Struggling with a cold."

She smiled bashfully, shining beneath his gaze, "You're very flattering."

"Well," he blustered, looking away quickly, blinking at the television screen, "you did say honesty."

She allowed herself a smile, pursing her lips together, "Good job she's rather _interested_ in you too."

"Thank God for that," he chuckled again, inwardly sighing in relief. "You want me to make some more tea?"

"Let's have some Port, maybe, and maybe watch a film? If you fancy staying a while longer."

"I'd love to."

"Okay," she twisted her neck and pointed to the cabinet at the back of the room, "it's in there. In fact there's lots of different things in there, help yourself."

"I have to drive, you know, so just a soupçon for me."

"That's an underused word."

She shifted her legs to let him up, marveling at how comfortable it was.

"January is gone."

"Sorry?" He said, from his position on the floor, kneeling in front of the drinks cabinet.

"I said, January is gone. Thank goodness, it's such a cold month, and I don't just mean weather-wise, this has actually been very mild. I mean in terms of the letdown after Christmas, the return to normality, work, all of that."

"I know what you meant," he held the bottle in front of her, "this one?"

"Yes please."

He turned to the kitchen then thought again, turning around and bending to kiss the top of her head, "I'm glad you were part of this January," he said, before going to pour the Port.

She felt odd, as she lay there listening to him, fiddling with the stitching of the edges of the blanket. So silly to feel so attached, already, to be thinking things… wondering… feeling things she hadn't dared herself to feel for an eternity. For her lifetime.

The memory of the last time she'd felt something akin to this made her shiver, flood with guilt, and she closed her eyes and rushed the thought away.

A time when she was young. When spending just five minutes with him was life. When she wished time away just to be with him again. Similar to how she was beginning to feel for Charles; looking forward to their next date, their next conversation, tingling when he touched her. Opening up to him about who she was and where she'd come from and wanting to know the same in return.

But she'd let herself down before. She'd forgotten who she was. She'd lost herself – never to be found again.

Perhaps she'd been stuck in January ever since.


	8. Chapter 8

_Sorry for the delay with this chapter - I have been on holiday (and I actually had a holiday and did nothing!) and now I have terrible jet lag!_

 _Thank you to all of you who keep leaving me reviews and sending me lovely messages; I really appreciate it. x_

* * *

 **Chapter 8**

 **Tuesday, 9** **th** **February**

Wood Hall was under forty minutes drive from York. Built in the 18th century, Charles had spent the past week reading up on its history and had immediately become an expert on it. It excited him to discover in this way, to fill his brain with knowledge and use it to direct his instructions to his staff.

The building wasn't overly grand but impressive enough to warrant the attention it was getting this week, and Charles himself was impressed that Cora had managed to arrange this entire event.

"Thank Cora for me, won't you?" Charles said, as he and Robert made their way along the corridor towards the dining room.

"Thank her? Thank you. Offering to provide us with staff free of charge."

"It's for a good cause," Charles shrugged, pushing open the large oak door. "I don't mind doing my bit. And Cora's done pretty well with this whole thing."

"She has," Robert said, slightly grudgingly Charles thought, "And Elsie, of course, her atanedance has nothing at all to do with all your effort." Robert smirked.

"Why do you say it like that?" Charles moved around the table, counting the potential place settings. "Going to need three guys in here I reckon, maybe get away with two depending on if Cora's filled the table."

"She will have, don't you worry. And you know very well why I say it like that. Haven't seen you smile like this for an eternity."

"Maybe I'm just excited about this weekend."

"I know very well what you're excited about."

"Don't be crude." Charles moved to stand beside the elaborate fireplace, gazing up at the portrait above it. "This is John Carr, the architect, I read up on it the other day."

"As always your attention to detail astounds me."

"Its what makes the service the best."

"Have you promised Elsie that?"

"You're a regular comedian, you know. Should we find Cora?"

"She went to give the stables the look over."

"I forgot there was riding."

"And polo."

"Both of which I will not be taking part in, I'll wave you off from the door then find a comfy spot by the fire to read the paper."

Robert moved to the window, looking out over the grounds. "Some things never change."

"I like what I like."

"Does she know yet?"

"Know what?"

"How stuck in your ways you are?"

"We're still getting to know each other, it's slow, but nice." He shifted the drapes from another window, further along the wall from Robert. "I feel I've been waiting for her all my life," he whispered to the frozen pane.

"Sorry?"

"I said, I hope it doesn't snow."

"Not meant to, rain though, definitely. Hopefully won't put off the attendees."

"I'm sure it won't. Not with the cost."

"Cora's stressing over every little detail now. Have you chosen a room for you and Elsie yet? I take it you're sharing one."

Charles nodded, slowly walking to the far end of the room. "We are," he pushed open the door, back out into the foyer, "first time since New Year." He said to himself, he felt oddly nervous about it, truth be told. They were very drunk the first time, and fairly drunk the second, he was planning to be sober the next time he made love to Elsie Hughes.

"There's a four poster one." Robert suggested, shutting the doors behind him and joining Charles on the staircase. "Across from Cora and I."

"I saw one with a sleigh bed, in their brochure. Is it still free?"

"I'm sure we can make sure one of them is. You want a good view too, if you're planning to woo her."

"She's not the kind of woman to fall for tricks - it's why we get on, she's honest, straightforward."

"In my experience, women are anything but."

"Well, maybe not in the same way we are," they both laughed, "but I guess age changes things. You aren't quite so glassy eyed at our age."

Robert laughed again as he followed Charles into one of the bedrooms, surely Charles Carson was the epitome of 'glassy-eyed' at this precise moment in time.

* * *

 **Friday, 12** **th** **February**

It's raining when he picks her up. But then it's been raining all week, non-stop, England is currently situated beneath a heavy cloud. He hopes it shifts over the weekend, there are outdoor activities, walks he'd like to do, croquet – though the grass will be far too wet, Elsie had mentioned wanting to go horse-riding over the phone the other night, he'd wrinkled his nose at that, surely there was no horse to bear his weight. But he can entertain himself whilst the others go. Read a book by the fire.

He pulls up behind her car on the drive, and is about to get out when he sees her waving from the porch, instructing him to stay put.

He does as she asks, watching as she locks up and runs the short distance to the car, pulling a small travel case behind her. He gets out then, taking it from her and depositing it in the boot.

"I told you to stay put," she admonishes, but lets him take care of her luggage as she gets into the passenger side.

"Rotten weather," she says as he closes his door.

"Bloody awful."

He leans across, "Hi."

"Hi," she's smiling as they kiss; a chaste, sweet kiss full of affection. She hums lightly, "Hi," she says again, kissing him once more.

"You're feeling much better?" he says knowingly, starting up the engine.

"A-ha, no more germs."

"Thank goodness," he looked back over his shoulder, reversing down the drive. "I'm glad you're better."

"Much, I can't wait for this," she pulls her seatbelt on, "I've been looking forward to it all week."

"Funnily enough, so have I."

Settling back in her seat, Elsie watched as Charles pulled out into the rain soaked street.

"How do you manage that?" He asked as he glanced to her.

"Manage what?"

"Effortlessly chic and sexy."

She stretched her body in the seat, purposefully preening, "Effortlessly," She grinned and he chuckled, shaking his head, keeping his eyes on the road. "Now I want to kiss you again."

"Why? Because I flattered you?"

"That, and the fact you look very handsome this morning."

"Liar," he chuckles, but his heart is beating hard.

"I don't lie."

"Right, there are just things you don't say?"

"Something like that."

He reflects on that, there are many things she hasn't said yet, or explained, and many things he still wants to know about her background. They're getting closer every day, sharing more and more, and perhaps soon she'll tell him what it is that seems to keep her that still seems to keep her that little bit shut off from people.

Elsie tugs the scarf free from her neck, it isn't a long drive to the estate but it feels stuffy with the warm car and insistent rain outside. "How's your week been?"

"Good," he sat up straighter in his chair, "good, I've enjoyed helping with the organisation, you know."

She felt the enthusiasm coming from him, he spoke more quickly as he explained what he'd been doing, complained about staff lacking precision and how beautiful the grounds and property were.

"You love this, don't you?" She commented, twisted around in her seat to watch his face as he spoke, enthusiasm evident.

"Love what?"

"Your job. You love it. I'm not sure I realised how much until just now."

He felt his cheeks redden, "Well, you're the same, workaholic I've discovered. You had, what, three days off? You've been there all hours since."

She laughed, "I know, every time you called I was at my desk. But things are moving forward, the bank has agreed the loan."

"Oh wonderful!" He cast her a quick look, "You can get on with your plans?"

"I can, those three places I saw in Liverpool for a start."

"Oh yes, you'll need to go there, I guess."

She smiled, watching the corners of his mouth droop, "Yes, I will. But you're welcome to join me." She wasn't entirely sure what drove her to make such an offer.

"Oh?"

"If you're interested in seeing them, you can give me your opinion before I make my offer."

"I'd rather like that."

"Road trip." She said, fiddling in her handbag for her phone as it bleeped loudly.

"Important?" Charles asked, as the phone 'binged' three times in a row.

"No," she quickly flicked her fingertips over the screen, smiling as she read the message. "Just responses to my post."

"Post?"

"I posted on Facebook about leaving for this weekend away, people commenting on it."

"I'm afraid I'm behind on all this stuff, I don't get it."

"It's the same old thing humans have always wanted – a need for communication. That's all."

"What's wrong with face-to-face conversation?"

"Absolutely nothing," she chuckled, "but it's nice to be able to talk to people on the other side of the world, you know, I guess it's just a quick and easy way to stay in touch."

"Hmm," he grumbled.

"You don't think so?"

"I just think for some it's replaced human interaction, reduced it to nothing more than these yellow faces with various expressions."

"I'll admit that in some cases yes, it has done that, it's not the be all and end all of everything. Some people become obsessed, some seem to do it because they're lacking something in their real life maybe, a need to have as many friends online as possible to validate your existence. Is that what you're thinking?"

"We all know people who want to be everybody's friend."

"Yes, isn't it sickening! Bloody suck-ups."

He laughed along with her. "Alright, point made."

"Don't worry, dear," she said as she put her phone away. "I won't be tapping away on that thing all weekend."

He smiled, wondering if she realised her use of the term 'dear'.

"Better things to do?" He asked innocently.

"Oh, have I?!" She giggled, fixing her gaze on him.

"Yes, there's plenty of activities…oh, I see, yes, of course I meant _that_." He shook his head again, "you're so bad."

"Bad for you?"

"Quite the opposite, incredibly good for me."

* * *

"Our room's at the end." Charles said, pulling Elsie's case and carrying his own bag as he led the way down the corridor.

"I like how we get special treatment," she said, following close behind.

"It helps to be part of the 'staff' I guess."

"Yes, and to be sharing a room with one of them."

He held his breath, feeling her close behind him as they reached the door, he couldn't wait to be alone with her, even if just for a short time before they went to find the other guests.

"You don't mind having to get here early to check all is running smoothly, I hope." He commented as he slid the card key into the lock.

"Course not, it's nice to see the place whilst it's quiet."

He stood back, letting her go in first, noting once again how good she looked in those jeans.

"Ooh great view," Elsie said from the window. "And it's almost stopped raining, we can go for a walk."

"Alright, sounds good." Charles rolled her travel case to one side of the bed.

"I'll unpack first though, hang my dress for tonight."

"Good idea, I'll do the same with my suit. Shall we have a cup of tea?"

"The art of romance for me that," she smiled teasingly as she stepped closer to him.

"Good, I'd hoped so. It's romance I can manage."

He curled his arms gently around her body, feeling his chest fly as she pressed in close to him.

"It's good to see you, Charles."

"Good to be seen…" The words 'I've missed you' were on the tip of his tongue, he hoped she knew even without him voicing it. "How many sugars do you take again?" He asked weakly as her hands slid purposefully over his shoulders.

"Shut up."

"Alright."

This time the kiss was deep and enrapturing. There was nothing chaste about it. No need to rush. A promise of what was to come later. A silent confession of the growing attachment to the other person.

When she slowed it, pulled back with sparkling eyes and a pursed smile he felt something give in his chest and he held her slightly tighter.

"Make the tea then, shall I?"

"Yes, do."

As she unpacked her things from her case it occurred to her how intimate it was, sharing a room, sharing a bathroom more to the point. She'd usually walk naked around the room as she got ready in the evening but she wouldn't be doing that with Charles there, they didn't know each other well enough yet for her to feel completely comfortable with that…yet. She slipped her underwear into the top drawer by the bed whilst he was distracted making the tea and laid her stockings out over the back of a chair to ease out the slight kinks.

Charles turned as she was smoothing them out, a cup of tea in each hand, open-mouthed as his brain rushed to catch up with the instinctive response of his body.

"Oh thank you," Elsie said, taking a cup from him, hiding her smile as she took a sip. "I said you make a good cup of tea; I told Beryl how well you looked after me last week."

He plonked himself down on the edge of the bed, "Oh you did? Well, don't go making me sound too good, otherwise they'll all be seeking my talents and it's only free for you."

"I rather like that idea, maybe I could put a price on you though, pimp you out!" She took a hanger from the wardrobe and slipped a dress onto it."

"Pimp. Me. Out?" He said slowly, "I'm not sure you'd make enough to pay one month's mortgage."

"Oh, I don't know. I can be quite the saleswoman."

"That I believe."

"There I'm unpacked, I left you those two drawers, and half the hangers."

"Thank you." He had the oddest feeling of being knee-deep into a relationship now, and not quite sure where it actually began. "You still want to go for a walk?"

"I do, unless you wanted to do something else?"

He swallowed, "No, let's walk, see the grounds."

"I'll unpack and we can get going."

"Okay," she folded her hands around her teacup. "I'll go freshen up whist you're unpacking, tie my hair back out of the wind."

"Alright," he sipped his tea, watching her perched on the edge of the bed, relaxed and beautiful. "You look lovely, did I tell you that?"

"I don't mind you telling me again." She smiled. "And you look lovely too," she pulled her legs up onto the bed, "did I tell you that?"

"You're a terrible flirt, Miss Hughes."

"Isn't it nice to be the recipient of it?"

He chuckled, "Immeasurably so."

* * *

When she emerges from the bathroom in a floor length black dress later that evening he's mesmerised. Her hair is pinned up from her face and she's wearing minimal, light makeup and he thinks all at once how he wants to always be the one with her, to always witness things like this.

"Oh don't you look wonderful," she says taking in his tux. "Very dapper."

"It's the new hair gel that's done it," he deadpans, "gotta do the tie though."

"Want me to help?"

"That _would_ be a help, I think my hands are too big for some things."

She gives him a 'look', a quirk of her eyebrow and chuckles as he shakes his head at her and she bids him to sit down in the chair at the dressing table.

"And there I was thinking how demure and elegant you looked in that dress."

She takes the tie from him, threads it beneath his collar, "Elegant and demure, hey? A far cry from a muddy farm girl with flat vowels and a gaping gap in her front teeth."

"You had braces?"

"I did." She pulls the tie tight, "and pigtails."

"Gorgeous."

"There you go, all done." She realises his hands are on her hips and wonders when he placed them there, or when she became so relaxed that she didn't even notice the move.

"You will tell me if I use the wrong fork, won't you?"

"I will," he's looking up endearingly at her and she lets her hands slide up from his shoulders to his face, stroking his skin gently, surprised by how soft it is following his recent shave. Smiling she leans in to kiss him; kissing him has become her favourite thing to do.

"What's time dinner?" She whispers.

Charles swallows, dares himself to let his hands slip around and rest on her bottom, she doesn't seem to mind, in fact it causes her to press even closer to him.

"8:00." He says softly. "Can I make a request?"

"Go on," she is stroking his neck, breathing in his cologne.

"Don't drink too much?"

She frowns, _does he think her a drunken fool?_

"Not in a horrid way," he quickly explains, "just because, well, because…" He huffs, "it'll sound ridiculous but tonight, you and I are sharing this room."

"Yes?"

"This bed… And the other two times we've done that we've both been drunk."

Realisation dawns, "Ah, right, are you worried we can only sleep together when inebriated?"

"Well, perhaps you need the Dutch courage…or, what do they call it, beer glasses?"

"Goggles. And don't be silly," it sounds _so_ ridiculous she laughs, "I think you're very handsome." She gives credence to her words by squeezing his shoulders, "Very. So let's forget that nonsense. But yes, I'd like to be sober too. I'll have wine with dinner. That's all."

"I feel foolish now, I don't want to ruin your evening."

"I can have fun without drinking, believe me."

"Shall we go down?"

"Let me put my jewellery on, then I'm ready."

As he watched her finish dressing he couldn't help but think how proud he was going to be that she was on his arm all night, and that perhaps, after all, she felt the same way too.

* * *

Robert handed over a whisky to Charles, pushing it into his empty hand even as his friend protested.

"Go on, you've hardly drunk all evening, you cradled the same glass of champagne for over an hour."

"I don't want to drink too much tonight, that's all."

Robert followed Charles' gaze over to the other side of the room, to where Elsie was chatting and laughing with other guests. He took in his friend's expression and smiled knowingly to himself – he recalled looking like that himself, when he first met Cora, transfixed and enamoured. Completely gone.

"Like a lovesick puppy," he said, taking a sip of his drink.

"Sorry…what?"

Robert shook his head, "Lovesick puppy, you."

Charles felt his collar tighten and he took a sip of the whisky, "I don't think I'm in love."

"You forgot to add, 'yet', and I disagree, I think you already are."

"It's too soon."

Robert shrugged, "It is what it is. Remember when I met Cora? Her father hated me. Ex-aristocrat with a snobbish accent and failing prospects. And her – beautiful, from a rich family, he was convinced I only wanted her money. But I couldn't stop myself. As hard as it was to bridge the difference, geographically and otherwise. I know that look. I can see it, the way you keep looking at her, the fact you can't _stop_ looking at her."

Charles looked away from Robert, back to the still laughing Elsie, she looked so happy. "It's too early for love," Charles said, he knew very well what it did to you, love, what it could do. And he wasn't about to fall too quickly and regret it.

Elsie looked up, saw the two men watching her, she lifted her hand and waved, smiling at Charles.

He waved back.

"Too soon?" Robert mused aloud.

* * *

Dinner was formal but fun, there was something nice about playing these roles, being served. Elsie watched the servers with extra interest, usually she never even noted them – if they were good at their job, that was the point. But now she watched them through Charles, sensing his pride at a job well done. Of course she expected nothing less; they'd been trained by him, it was inevitable.

Charles glanced down sharply between the main course and dessert, surprised to find Elsie's hand resting lightly on his. She was in conversation with Richard Carlisle on her other side, but her hand was on Charles', and he parted his fingers, letting hers fall down between the gaps.

He was smiling at the intimacy of the movement when he reached for his water glass, and caught the look Beryl gave him from across the table as she winked, almost imperceptibly. He didn't know Beryl all that well, only that she was one of Elsie's closest friends, he knew Isabel much better through her connections with the hospital and fundraising and the Crawleys. Her husband seemed a decent sort though, they both did, clearly Beryl was a woman who liked a good time, he'd realised that New Year's Day at Elsie's house, Beryl had a raucous laugh and a wicked sense of humour – the banter between her and Elsie was too quick for him to follow a lot of the time.

Elsie's hand left his when dessert was served and he found he missed the touch, she leant into him though, whispering, " _Help_ …"

He frowned, mouthed, "What?"

She picked up her pastry fork and nudged her chin back towards Richard, and Charles took in the man for the first time that night – newspaper tycoon he thought, clearly an acquaintance of Cora's and one that would donate generously to the hospital.

"Not much longer," he said gently.

"Are you kidding me, we've got coffee, brandy and whatever else…cheese and things."

He smirked, "Cheese and things."

"Don't laugh at me," she smiled, "I'm not as cultured as you. And I've eaten too much already, my stomach will stick out when I get up from this table, this dress is not forgiving."

He briefly rubbed her arm, "I'll have your chocolate tart, if you don't want it."

She glared, cutting off a piece with her fork, there was no way she was giving up that particular decadence. "So, I was wondering..."

"Yes?"

"Does this count as one long date, this weekend, almost three days with me?"

"That is a long date." He turned the idea over in his mind, "Maybe we could count each new activity as a new date, that would put me way ahead of the game."

"Are we playing a game?"

"Are we?" He smiled at her sparkling eyes, reaching for his water again.

"So, Elsie," Richard interrupted, and she turned her attention back to him. "These properties you're interested in buying, where are they exactly?"

Charles glanced over Elsie's head to the young blonde sat the other side of Richard, he wasn't sure of her name, clearly she was the guy's date but she wasn't having much luck holding his attention it seemed and looked quite put out and incredibly bored. He mused on the mindfield that relationships were as he sat back and looked around the table – Cora and Robert facing each other across the table yet still very much together, Beryl and her husband laughing together over something, Richard Clarkson quite evidently head-over-heels with Isobel, and then Mary seated beside her, she only had eyes for Matthew, and who could blame her? He was as handsome as she was beautiful.

Charles caught Edith's eye and smiled warmly; how he wished the young woman could find someone to love.

"No Sybil tonight?" He asked her.

"She has to work, will be here tomorrow though, bringing some new guy apparently."

"Ah," he nodded, it seemed love really was blooming all around.

* * *

After dinner there were brandies, as Elsie predicted, and 'games' in the parlour. Charles wasn't one for gambling, he didn't really approve of it, but he hung around and watched as others played poker, backgammon and the like.

He was talked into joining a game of bridge by Mary, he always did find it hard telling her 'no', even though she was far from a child these days.

He wasn't sure how long he'd played for, nor how much money he'd actually lost, but when a pair of soft hands landed on his shoulders his body told him how late it was even before she did.

"Hi," she bent and whispered by his ear. "How's it going?"

"Badly. How about with you?"

"Fine, I only played a few rounds, did have a nice sing-song around the piano in the other room though."

"Oh, I missed that," and he was sorry he had.

"Are you going to play much longer?"

"What time is it?"

"After one," she said, rubbing his shoulders.

"Already?"

"Already." She whispered again, "And I don't want to be a bore but I feel the week is catching up with me. Do you mind if I go up?"

He turned his head then, catching her eye.

"I'll wait," she smiled.

"I'll make this the last game."

* * *

It was almost two by the time they got back to their hotel room and Elsie had been leaning against Charles' arm, almost hanging off it, as they made their way up the grand staircase and along the corridor to their room.

Charles let her use the bathroom first, hanging his suit and putting on pyjama bottoms and his complimentary robe as he waited.

Elsie took off her makeup, let her hair down, put on the simple black nightgown she'd brought with her and went out to him.

"I'm so tired," she said, genuinely feeling so as she hung her dress.

"I know, I didn't realise the game had gone on so long, I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I'm glad you enjoyed it. It was a fun night, like being one of the upper class for a while."

"Yeah," he got to his feet, groaning as his back stretched. "Ohhh. A good night apart from Mr Carlise though, hey, who has apparently taken a liking to you."

"Oh god, don't say that, I can't think of anything worse," she rolled the bedsheets back and he enviously watched her climb in. "This is high this bed, surprisingly."

"You need a leg up?"

"Ha ha," She plumped the pillows, settled back, picking up the television remote and putting on the news. "Such a dull man." She reflected.

"Who? Carlisle?"

"Yes, and a little creepy too."

"In what way?"

"I don't know…cold, reminded me of someone I used to know."

"Oh?"

She tapped the remote in her hand, "Someone I'd rather not think of."

He stared at her for a moment, torn between wanting to press her, to know more, and wanting to leave the wonderful atmosphere of the day just as it was.

"Would you like something to drink?" He asked gently, "Tea? Water?"

"I'm fine, thank you, are you coming to bed?" She yawned, her eyes felt very heavy and her head was spinning; if she was alone she'd have already turned off the lights and be half-asleep.

"I'll just wash up," he headed into the bathroom.

When he emerged from the bathroom he found Elsie lying across the bed, almost draped across it, tucked contentedly beneath the duvet, her eyes closed.

He switched off the lights and moved to the bed, lifting the duvet slightly and causing Elsie to open her eyes. "Hello," he said as she noted him by the side of the bed.

"I'm sorry, I'm so tired, almost dropped off."

"That's alright, it is almost 2:30."

"You want a particular side of the bed?"

"I don't mind, as long as you're in it."

She couldn't help but smile at that – he was terribly sweet at times, unknowingly so, and often unplanned, which made it all the better. She scooted over, letting him climb in beside her, watching as he took off his robe and lay bare chested, broad chested, beside her.

Switching off the television she slid the remote onto the bedside table and Charles turned off the lamp before settling down against the plush pillows. She was on her right side and he curled up behind her, sliding his arm around her waist and she wiggled back against him.

"This is nice," he whispered into the darkness. "Comfy bed."

"It is," she patted his hand where it lay against her stomach, "I'm sorry I'm tired."

"Stop saying that," he yawned, "I'll be asleep in five minutes."

"Perhaps we're too old for these late nights."

"Perhaps," he kissed the back of her head. "Goodnight, Elsie."

"Goodnight." She mumbled, already half asleep, completely comfortable in his arms.

* * *

Elsie only managed a few hours of sleep before she woke needing the bathroom, she eased herself out of the bed, out of Charles' arms, and tiptoed into the ensuite.

On the way back to the bed she tripped over Charles' shoes, banging her arm on the wall as she tried to right herself.

"Oh, shit."

"You alright?" Charles' voice came from the darkness.

"Sorry I woke you, tripped over something." She felt around on the floor for the object responsible, "I take it back, it's your bloody shoes, I'm not sorry."

"Did you hurt yourself?" He asked sleepily.

"Not really," she found her way back to the bed, "just banged my elbow."

Charles lifted the sheets back for her, "Sorry, it's alright?"

"It will be."

She lay back on her side, melting into her pillow and sighing contentedly.

Once again Charles moved up behind her, his arm heavy over her waist, she smelled so good, felt so good in his arms,

Elsie had her eyes closed but she felt Charles' lips touch the the back of her shoulder as if she'd been hit by lightning. His mouth moved, kissing along the back of her shoulder, she deliberately let her body roll slightly forward, leaving more of her back exposed. He took the signal and kissed across her back, his palm smoothing up from base of spine to top, until she moaned lethargically.

"Do you…?" He whispered huskily.

She smiled into her pillow, "Do I what…?"

He breathed heavily, she felt the warm air on the back of her neck, "Nothing," his hand squeezed her hip and he tugged her back against him.

His shyness did something to her heart and she turned over and lifted her mouth to his, kissing him gently, her hands sliding up his bare arms to his shoulders.

"Yes, I do."

Charles' hand scrunched at the flimsy material of her nightgown, "You're so sexy."

"Am I?" She rolled onto her back, bidding him to lean over her.

"So beautiful," he kissed her nose, "I felt like the luckiest man alive tonight to have you with me."

She slid her hands into his hair, pulling him down to kiss, this time hungrily as their bodies found each other again, legs sliding around the other's, hands feeling, groping, cradling as fingers stretched out across body parts, into eternity.

Elsie had always considered herself physically strong, she'd been active on the farm as a child, had formed strong muscles, ate well, climbed trees, ran across fields. But somehow in his arms she felt petite. Tiny.

Placing her hand squarely on his chest she pushed against him until he took the hint and rolled onto his back and she could clamber over his body in a movement that was both clumsy and enticing in one fail swoop.

She was giggling as his hands pushed at her nightgown and she toppled on top of him as she righted her legs either side of his hips and sat back, shaking her hair out of her face and lifting the silky garment off her body and throwing it aside.

Her silhouette was outstanding and he ran his fingers up either side of her body, the right hand moving faster than the left as he skimmed over the curve of her hips, took his time when she shivered and he touched her ribs and the edges of her breasts. She let him touch her, left her hands on his stomach and watched his face as he did so.

Charles breathed in deeply and she felt the movement beneath her palms, his stomach sinking in and then expanding out; somehow the slightly rounded shape was comforting and she smiled down at him.

"Which one of us is going to be sensible then?"

For a moment he squinted at her then his face broke into a grin and he stretched his arm to the left, rattling the side table as he yanked the drawer open.

"I'm prepared," he said, his voice low yet playful.

"I thought you might be," she fell forward, covering his chest in kisses as he fumbled about in the drawer and she chuckled against his skin. "Like a schoolboy getting laid for the first time."

"No, that was New Year's Eve," he let the drawer slide shut, "this time I'm sober and slightly less overwhelmed by my luck."

She looked up at him, eyes sparkling, "Oh really?"

"I said _slightly_."

She wiggled her hips, "I remember it working fine a few weeks back."

"Seems a lifetime."

"Well, you know more about me now," she kissed his chest again, up to his face, stroking her fingers across his cheeks. "And I know you."

"And I've managed not to put you off yet…somehow."

"Oh I think I'm the one who's managed not to put _you_ off…yet…"

He smiled, tangling a hand into her hair and bringing her mouth down to his, "I want to know everything about you," he whispered before kissing her.

* * *

With his mouth on her neck Elsie sighed happily, stroking her hands down his back and back up again, her nails softly grazing his skin, her legs still wrapped tightly around his waist.

"So, that still works then?" She said teasingly.

He chuckled against her neck, kissing his way back up to her face, "I guess so."

She nudged her nose against his, both smiling, cheeks flushed. He groaned as he reluctantly moved from her body.

Elsie rolled out from beneath him, to the edge of the bed, shakily getting to her feet and heading to the bathroom.

When she crawled back into bed Charles was lying in the middle, smiling broadly at her.

"Hi," she said as she shuffled beside him.

"Hi," he slid his arms around her waist and tugged her body on top of his, settling his folded hands at the base of her spine. "Hi," he said again, nuzzling her neck.

"You're happy."

"Very."

"Mmm," she held his face, kissing him again, slowly and deeply.

"So, I was wondering…"

"What were you wondering?"

"I was wondering…are we still dating?" He asked shyly.

"Are you breaking up with me now you've had me, Mr Carson? Because that's a bit low."

"Don't be ridiculous."

She laughed, "What then?"

"I mean…what I mean…"

She giggled at his uncertainty.

"Stop laughing at me."

"I can't help it, you're so incredibly sweet."

"Or clumsy."

"That's sweet," she kissed his nose. "What are you trying to ask me, Charlie?"

His eyes widened, "Are you going to call me that from now on?"

"Perhaps…when I feel you're being childish."

"This isn't chilidish, it's serious."

"Then ask me," she folded her arms on his chest, resting her chin on her folded hands.

"I'm trying to say that we, you and I and this whole thing…aren't we…?"

She laughed again, "Are you trying to ask me to be your girlfriend, Charles, is that what you're saying?"

"Yes," he sighed deeply, "that's what I'm asking, in a roundabout way."

"I like being referred to as a 'girl' still. What shall I call you? Boyfriend doesn't suit you, you're far too manly."

He chuckled, his broad chest shaking beneath her, "Am I?"

"Man-friend sounds odd, like I bought you on eBay, some blow-up toy."

"Oh god…"

"Ooohh I can just call you 'my lover', meet my _lover_ Charles Carson."

"Elsie," he shook his head, amused by her tone.

"Not sweet enough for you?"

"No," he pulled her to him to kiss her again.

"Mmm, so maybe, 'this is Charles Carson, I'm in a relationship with him'… How's that?"

"Your dreaded r word."

"Indeed. Though it does mean I can update my Facebook status."

"I don't get that but okay." He kissed her again, holding her tight against him, his chest almost buzzing with delight.

"You do realise how dangerous relationships are," she said, between kisses.

"Absolutely, and messy and painful and aggravating and confusing… All of that."

"But we're still going into it?"

"Eyes wide open," he twirled a lock of her hair between his fingers, "this is Elsie Hughes…" He smiled, "this beautiful, funny, smart woman is Elsie Hughes, my girlfriend."

"Girl. Emphasise that bit."

"My girl friend."

"Nicely done."

"Thank you."

She wiggled against him, "are you?" She giggled, "Not tired yet then?"

"It seems not."

Shifting easily she sat astride him, his elbows dug into the mattress as he held his hands up and she pressed hers flat against his, pressing down heavily as she leant forward and kissed him.

"I have fond memories of looking up at this view."

Her eyes flashed wide, "Ah, Mr Carson, I don't expect such comments from you." She continued to press down on his hands, wobbling back and forth purposefully.

"You bring out the 'lover' in me."

She giggled at that, feeling genuinely happy in that moment, holding his gaze and noting both the warmth in his eyes along with this odd sense of warmth filling her own body.

The sun was coming up and the bedroom had that milky tone, framing everything in watercoloured morning light; their skin pale as the last vestiges of night crept away.

"This could be messy," she stated, wiggling her hips against him.

He nodded, "A-ha, willing to give it a go though. Aren't you?"

"Mmm," she leant forward, kissing him again, "let's do just that… see how it goes."


	9. Chapter 9

_A little bit of backstory as they move forward. Heartfelt thanks to all of you who continue to support my writing xx_

 **Chapter 9**

 **Saturday 13** **th** **February**

"Is it terrible that I really don't want to get out of bed and do anything now we're here? I've been looking forward to the activities all week." Charles mumbled against the back of Elsie's neck, placing delicate kisses across her neck and shoulders, one hand pressed against her stomach holding her tightly against him.

"Is it terribly big headed of me to think I am the reason for this change of heart?"

"You know you are."

He kissed her again, and his body hummed in pleasure at having her there with him, naked and warm and content.

Elsie still had her eyes closed, her body felt languid and, for some unfathomable reason, she had no qualms at all about lying there with him, cuddling with him, or about the fact that now they were an official couple. In fact, she'd found that when she'd woken late that morning, lying on her side with one arm draped over Charles' stomach, she felt the most relaxed she had in a very long time.

Charles was still asleep when she'd woken, lying on his back, snoring, his thick hair ruffled from their activities in the early hours, the sheets around his waist. For a long time, she'd laid there watching him, stroking her fingers across his chest, until the heaviness pressing in her belly had forced her to get up and use the bathroom.

When she'd tiptoed back to bed Charles was awake, and he smiled at her in such a way she thought she could visibly see his joy come out of his face. She remembered a quote from her childhood days, Roald Dahl, _The Twits_ – she consumed books as a child, reading over and over whilst hiding in her favourite spot in the barn: ' _if you have good thoughts they will shine out of your face like sunbeams and you will always look lovely._ ' He was a kind man, right now a happy man, and it did indeed shine out of his face.

"Good morning," she said, unperturbed at being naked in front of him.

"Hello," he stretched his arms above his head, twisted onto his side as she climbed in beside him and settled on her side, her back to him. She reached around for his arm and pulled it across her waist, and he snuggled against her, kissing her cheek before moving his kisses across the back of her neck.

"What activities were you planning on doing?" She asked.

"Golf, perhaps, if you fancy it?"

"I can't play."

"Oh dear…"

She chuckled, "Oh I get it, I wasn't invited to golf, men only is it?"

"I thought you'd be doing female things."

"What are they? Cooking, shopping, having my nails done?"

"You know I'd happily abandon all of my plans to spend the time with you instead," he squeezed her stomach to emphasise his point. "Whatever you want to do."

She smiled, patted his hand, "I'm only teasing you, of course you go play golf with the others, I've picked my spa treatments."

"Always teasing."

"I can't help it. It's in my nature."

"Were you trouble at school?"

"I was barely at school."

"Oh yes, you told me that. Working on the farm."

"The attendance officer stopped chasing me up after a while."

"You're smart, I bet you still passed your exams."

"Of course. As well as I could."

"When you left Scotland…" He started but she turned, threading her arms around his waist.

"Let's not talk about that now."

"Alright," he smiled, like a boy winning the greatest prize as he gazed down at her.

"You want to go have breakfast with the others?"

"Yes," he kissed her again, enjoying every single second of his time with her. "No, let's stay right here."

"All day?" She laughed, "The entire day spent in bed having sex?"

"Sounds a wonderful plan, doesn't it?"

"Sounds a _hopeful_ plan, given our ages."

He laughed, "I'm willing to give it a go."

"You see, the thing is," she patted his hair down, "I'm not quite finished with you yet, by a long shot, and I rather think you need the energy that breakfast will bring, and the _rest_ that playing golf will bring."

His hands slid down and patted her bottom, "You think I can't keep up?"

She bit her lip, "Too much of a good thing, dear."

"I've never believed in that statement."

She kissed him deeply before slipping out of bed, "I'm going to have a shower."

"Torment."

"Get up, get ready, I need a cup of tea."

* * *

Charles sat on the edge of the bed pulling on his socks, watching Elsie at the vanity drying her hair, the morning news flashing across the television screen on the wall.

"What?" She mouthed in the mirror.

"Just watching."

"You're staring."

"I don't think I'll get bored of watching you get ready."

She switched off the hairdryer, lying it down on the side and running the brush through her hair again. "I can guarantee you'll get bored of watching me."

He shook his head, getting to his feet and reaching for his trousers.

"And you do realise that if you sit at breakfast with that huge smile on your face everyone will know what we've been up to… And Beryl will waste no time in making some lewd joke which you will not approve of."

"She'd do that publicly?"

She got to her feet, slipping off her robe and nodding her head, her eyes glinting with mischief.

Charles frowned, comically turning his mouth down at the edges. "How's this?"

"Beautiful, better than a smile, suits you more."

"You…"

"Me…?" She said in a singsong voice.

"Come here, you tease."

"Make me."

She stood deliberately with her hands in her hips, in nothing but her underwear, giggling like a child as Charles easily lifted her into his arms and over his shoulder.

* * *

"What's happened?" Isobel whispered by Beryl's ear.

"Clearly the physical side of their relationship is back on," Beryl whispered in return, stirring sugar into her tea.

Across the room from them Charles moved along the breakfast buffet, turning his head and smiling down at the woman whose hand was sliding across his back; Elsie whispered by his ear and he chuckled at her words.

"She looks so happy," Isobel said, "I've never seen her this happy, not even when she sold that house she'd renovated and made that massive profit."

"God yes, and took us all to Paris to celebrate. She needs to sell more houses."

"She'll take him instead though now, won't she." Anna said, joining the pair of them at the breakfast table. "Unless we have a couples break, now we're all coupled up."

"Yes, where is the fine Doctor this morning, Izzy?" Asked Beryl, elbowing Isobel's arm.

"He went out early with Robert on the horses, something about getting pictures of the sunrise."

"Madness, in this frosty weather. It's February not June."

"Least he's got some energy," Anna pointed out, "I left John still sleeping, one game of cards too many last night, I fear."

"Ha, he had one too many of something sweetheart, I don't think it was cards. Is he joining them for golf?"

"Yes, that was his plan anyhow, I'll take him up some tea and a bacon sandwich and I'm sure he'll be right."

"You think these two can tear themselves away from each other?" Isobel said, nodding towards Elsie and Charles as they sat down at the long table, Elsie's hand over Charles' as they chatted.

"Like watching a love story unfold," gushed Anna, "so sweet."

"Ha!" Beryl laughed, "More like she shook him all night long!"

"As Brian Johnson might sing."

"I have no idea who you're referencing," Anna said.

"Because you are just a baby darling," Isobel patted Anna's arm.

"No excuse," Beryl insisted, "she needs to know her classic rock or…oh shit!"

"What? I'm not that bad."

"No, no, no…look." Beryl pointed out of the dining room, through the open door to where Sybil stood in the hallway with her arm looped around her new boyfriend.

"Ohhhh shit," Anna agreed, as they all watched Tom accompany the lovely Sybil down the hallway and into the room.

Charles didn't notice him at first, he was so wrapped up in talking to Elsie and eating his eggs, pleased that she wasn't some woman who sat at breakfast with a yoghurt and a Ryvita looking miserable, she had toast and scrambled eggs and lots of tea – in fact she refilled his teacup for him every time she did her own and he loved the fact she did, it made him feel cared for.

When she suddenly got to her feet it surprised him and he was disorientated as he twisted round to see who she was talking to.

"Hello darling," he heard a young man say.

"Hello handsome," Elsie moved around the table, throwing her napkin down, "I didn't realise you were coming here."

"I didn't know neither," he leant in to kiss Elsie's cheeks. "Sybil bought the tickets, supporting her mother. I didn't realise when you said a weekend away that this was the thing."

"Well it's lovely to see you here."

"And you, at least I know there's someone fun here too."

She squeezed his arms, "Still going well with Sybil then?"

He gave a slight nod, "She's gorgeous, astonishing."

Elsie smiled, "Who knew you'd fall so hard…"

"And you…" Tom mumbled, glancing over her shoulder.

"Oh god," she turned, still holding Tom's hand, "Tom, you remember Charles?"

Charles got to his feet, holding out his hand politely.

"I do, we met at the thing, Izzy's thing." Tom shook the older man's hand, he distinctly remembered that night because it was the night Elsie had turned him down, the first night she ever had, and this was the man she'd done it for. "Good to see you again. You enjoying the weekend so far?"

"Very much," Charles said stiffly. "And the weather seems to be holding, we might actually get outside."

Elsie threaded her arm through Charles', "Are you joining them for golf, Tom?"

"Lord no, I can't play for toffee, I'd just make a fool of myself. I think Sybil wants to go horse riding. Are you doing that, Els?"

"Absolutely not, I shall be having a back massage, a head massage, a facial, and then maybe a dip in the jacuzzi."

"With a glass of champagne, right?"

"Or Buck's Fizz."

"Or that. So, I'm on parent duty now, I need to make a good impression."

"Just be charming and smart, but not too smart," Elsie warned. "In fact, Charles should give you advice, he knows Robert like a brother."

"I may take you up on that."

Tom wandered over to where Isobel and Beryl sat and as Charles returned to his seat he watched the handsome young man kiss both women as he greeted them.

"He's certainly got the charming bit down," he observed, "doesn't need help with that."

"We've all known each other a long time, like you and Robert, that's all." She squeezed his hand on the table, "Finish your breakfast."

"Lost my appetite."

"Charles…" She leant in close to him, "Don't."

He looked her in the eye, leant back in his chair and rewound his feelings by five minutes to that wonderful place he was in prior to Tom entering the room. "You didn't introduce me as your lover." He pouted.

She chuckled, "Ha, I apologise, want me to do it now, shout it across the table?"

"Not really."

"I have a better idea," she moved her face to his, one hand sliding up onto his shoulder as she kissed him. "Point made?"

"Yes," he whispered softly in return.

* * *

"So…" Beryl said, turning her head towards Elsie's bed. "I kinda get the feeling you and Mr Carson are slightly more intimate than you were last time I saw you together."

Elsie smiled into her pillow, her arms folded beneath her chin, eyes closed as she enjoyed the stillness of the room, the relaxing fragrance and gentle light.

"I'm relaxing, shut up."

"You're smiling, I can see. And we're alone now, you can tell me the truth."

"There's nothing to tell."

"My arse."

"I don't want to think about your backside, thank you, as much as I love you."

Beryl laughed, "It's good to see you smiling. That's all."

Elsie turned her head on the pillow and finally looked at her friend, "Thank you. It's nice to be smiling. But I don't want to think about it too much."

"Why?"

"Because it might all go tits up," she rolled onto her back, pulling her towel with her and covering her chest. "I'm a big girl, I fully expect there to be issues at some point, but I want to just enjoy it at the moment."

"It might not go wrong."

"Oh, come on, this is me. I'm not known for my lasting, meaningful relationships."

"I do know you, and I do know what happened, remember, sometimes I think you want your men to turn out to be bad, because it proves a point."

"Don't be ridiculous, proves a point!" Elsie huffed, sitting up and dangling her feet over the side of the bed.

"Just listen to me, you don't want a man to be right for you because then it means you'll have to actually trust him, be with him…"

"Shut up, I'm not a child," she jumped down from the bed, reaching for her robe.

Beryl sat up, "Elsie, I'm not being judgemental."

"Aren't you?"

"I know Alex –,"

"Don't. Don't mention him. That was a lifetime ago, I was a different person. A child. I'm not now. And I do trust Charles. Actually."

"Honey," Beryl got up, placing her hand on Elsie's shoulder. "I'm on your side, I always am. All I'm saying is maybe you don't need to worry about this going wrong, about him turning out to be some awful person because maybe he's a decent human being and perhaps, this time, you can open up, give yourself up to him."

Elsie let out a long breath, "I'm scared of losing me, like I did before, losing myself in him and then ending up a fool."

"That won't happen."

"How can you be sure of that?"

"I just feel it," she smiled, "And you know I'm always right."

"No, _I'm_ always right."

"I think you'll find _I'm_ always right."

They laughed and Beryl pulled Elsie into a brief hug, patting her back, "Shall we go find the others in the Jacuzzi?"

"Sounds like a plan."

* * *

Charles knew he was sulking; he knew it was childish, perhaps even adolescent, and of course he was wrong – he knew that in his heart – but still, he was sulking.

The night had begun well-enough, in fact it had started with the end of the afternoon, with his team winning at golf, with afternoon tea on the lawn and then a back massage, followed by the sauna and the jacuzzi and Elsie. He felt decadent and lucky. And very relaxed.

They'd had a couple of hours alone in their room. For a while they'd cuddled on the bed and watched some show about house renovations (though if he were honest he'd dozed on and off), then she'd showered and he'd shaved and they'd dressed and gone down for dinner.

She was wearing some amazing glittery, midnight blue dress that sparkled beneath the light of the chandeliers, and as she walked down the stairs before him it seemed to move like a second skin.

At the foot of the stairs she paused, waited for him to catch up, and took his hand.

"I'm starving," she whispered, "and in need of wine…and dancing."

"Not much of a dancer, I'll admit," he whispered in return, patting the back of her hand where it lay against his.

"Don't worry, I'm not making any demands, I'll dance with the girls." She turned to smile at him, "You can watch."

"In that dress, believe me, I will be."

Her brow furrowed, "You think it's too tight?" She turned slightly, moving in front of him, "I worried it looked ridiculous."

"It looks amazing, you do." He smiled kindly, "Believe me. Amazing."

Now, as he watched her dance in said dress, he thought maybe it wasn't so appropriate. Jealousy was an odd thing, a bitter darkness in his chest, swimming up from his stomach, along his veins. He'd been here before, that night when he'd acted so out-of-character, he didn't want to go there again.

But try as he might all he saw was the fact he felt very old, as he sat there cradling his single-malt, and very much aware that in no way would he ever be able to dance with Elsie the way Tom was right now.

Of course, it wasn't just him, he had to keep reminding himself of that. Sybil was dancing too. And Anna and Beryl and Mary and Matthew…even Cora, occasionally Robert, but he was very drunk.

Charles felt out-of-place. Awkward and dinosaur-like. The alcohol was making him surly and he realised he was probably glaring as he crossed his long legs and swirled the liquid in his glass. Pale blue lights slid across the polished dance floor, there was a deep, thumping beat playing, and his heart pounded in his ears.

Closing his eyes momentarily he decided watching was only making it worse. He didn't want to see somebody else's hands on Elsie's hips. So, he turned in his chair and leant over the table, pulling over the bread basket from the centre of the table and breaking off a piece.

After watching the scene play out for a while, Isobel excused herself from the table she was seated at, stopped a waiter and ordered coffee, and joined Charles at his table by the edge of the dance floor.

"Do you mind some company?" She asked, slipping into the chair close to him.

"Course not," he smiled, pushing away the bread basket again.

Isobel smiled kindly, she always had been such a very kind woman, Charles had often thought that, though their paths had crossed very rarely over the years.

"Wonderful venue for all this," Charles observed, leaning back in his chair and looking up surprised when a waiter placed down a coffee pot and two cups and saucers. "Did you…?" He asked, indicating the beverage.

Isobel leant forward and started to pour, "I think you might need to ditch the malt and have something warm instead."

"Hm," Charles smiled half-heartedly, dropping a lump of brown sugar into the mixture. "I'm usually a tea drinker."

"Me too," Isobel sipped her coffee, taking a moment before speaking again. "You know, she isn't doing it to hurt you."

He looks up sharply, bushy eyebrows raised, eyes wide.

Isobel smiled, licking her lips, "She doesn't do it to flirt, neither, nor make you jealous. It really is as simple as her just wanting to dance, and Tom dancing with her is just that."

"You've known her for considerably longer than I have," is all he says.

"Yes, and so believe me, she is _just_ dancing."

He refills his coffee cup, does the same for her, "She told me, when I first…" he glanced up quickly, "…met her, that she didn't 'do' relationships."

"A-ha, but she is, isn't she?" Isobel put her cup down and pushed the saucer away. "What do you call this, a weekend away together, a very public weekend away together. Holding your hand at the breakfast table for goodness sake, that's not an Elsie I've seen before."

He can't help but smile at that, feel a sense of pride at it.

"Stop second-guessing her. Elsie Hughes may be many things but I can assure she's honest and loyal, as long as you extend to her the same courtesy." She leant in closer to him, pressing her hand very lightly on his forearm. "And from what I know of you, you're those things too… but perhaps…"

He snorted; a short, sharp sound, "Perhaps a bit of a dinosaur."

"I would never dare use those words, she'd kill me." She squeezed his arm, got to her feet, "you seem to be her dinosaur now."

Now he laughed, "Good lord, that sounds so very odd."

"It does rather, doesn't it? Okay, that's enough for me, see you tomorrow Charles." She leant down to kiss his cheek.

"Goodnight Isobel."

He watches her leave with Dr. Clarkson and thinks he ought to get to know the man better, maybe the four of them could have dinner, or go to the theatre or something. He thinks he remembers hearing that Isobel liked Chamber music and he usually attends the North York Moors Festival in August; it's Schumann this year, he's already got his tickets. Perhaps he should ask Elsie, maybe sort something out.

But as he turns and watches her and Anna writhing together to the lively beat he can't quite see her on a picnic blanket listening to some group bang out Bach.

He turns back to his table, shifting his shirt-sleeve so he can see his watch – 12:07, he'll toddle off to bed soon and leave her to it.

When Elsie's hands slide over his shoulders he actually shudders, surprised by her sudden presence. Her breath is hot by his ear as she bends forward, resting heavily against him, and kissing his cheek.

"Are you okay?" She whispered by his ear, rubbing his shoulders.

"A-ha."

"Because you seem kinda grumpy."

"Do I?"

"You do realise, there's no reason for you to be jealous, don't you?" She squeezed his shoulders again, and her hair tickled his skin as she leant forward.

He fiddled with the napkin that had been left on the table, unsure if he was angry at the fact she'd been dancing with Tom or angry with himself for thinking the worse – and there's something almost amusing about the whole thing, her words so very similar to Isobel's; how obvious he must be!

"You were dancing with Tom," he mumbled childishly.

Elsie smiled, kissed his cheek again and said, "It doesn't matter who I'm dancing with, I'm going home with you."

He twisted his head round, eyebrows raised, "Home?"

"Well, back to your hotel room. Our hotel room."

"Now?"

She giggled, "If you like."

"I can't cope with all these late nights."

"It's Sunday tomorrow, an excuse to laze around in bed."

He's turning now, a hand sliding around her back, "And Sunday lunch, roast chicken and mashed potatoes."

"How easily pleased you are."

His eyes darken just slightly, "I don't mean to be…grumpy… you know, I just worried, seeing you dancing, that I can't be what you want."

She frowns, "Do you know what I want?"

"Clearly not," he looks back to see Tom dancing with Sybil, his arms secure around the young lady as they sway happily together.

"Tom and I are just friends, Charles," she points out, following his gaze. "We're more than that now," she says, placing her hand heavily on his. "So, come on, because my feet are killing me."

"Thank god, I was worried I was going to fall asleep where I sat."

* * *

Elsie woke suddenly, blinking in the dark room and trying to remember where she was. As the edges of her dream ebbed away the recollection of where she was, and more importantly who she was with, fell into place.

Charles was sleeping beside her, snoring lightly, mouth slightly open and one arm laid out on the pillow beside him, clearly the place she'd been lying before she was jerked awake. His expression of absolute relaxation made her smile and she kissed his hand that was beside her on the pillow before getting out of bed.

Creeping to the bathroom she used the loo before splashing her face in tepid water and tiptoeing back to bed. The hotel was still and quiet and the room she was sharing with him calm. Or maybe that was just how she felt when with him.

She watched him sleep for a while, sitting on the edge of the bed and staring at his face. How odd it all was, to meet him at this point in her life, to feel how she did…how she was beginning to feel. It surprised her that she was even allowing herself to contemplate it, that she'd agreed to them moving forward from dating to a relationship so easily. He kept surprising her and she found herself falling deeper into it all, fully aware of what she was doing, scared and yet doing it all the same.

Shivering, she tucked her legs beneath the quilt and cuddled up against his warm body, pressing her legs to his, her arm over his belly, her head against his upper chest until her body was curled against his, touching him wherever she could. She kissed his chest, rested her head there, felt his heart beating strongly beneath his skin.

"I'm falling for you," she whispered, breathing deeply, giving life to words she'd hardly given herself time to even think of let alone say aloud. "And that terrifies me." She added, her voice muffled by his body and the sheets.

For several minutes silence returned, and she lay still, her eyes open as she stared towards the window and the slight hint of light coming from beneath the curtains.

Somehow Charles managed to keep his breathing even and steady, his eyes closed. He could feel Elsie's fingertips stroking back and forth across his bare chest, her breath on his skin…her mumbled words ringing through his brain and leaving him both exhilarated and nervous as hell.

"Why?" He finally whispered in return, and somehow the fact that he's awake doesn't unnerve her or even surprise her.

She remains silent, running the tips of her fingers over his chest, her head still pressed against his side.

"Why?" he asks again, his voice a little louder. "Why terrify?" he kisses the side of her head and she shifts then, pulling back so she can look up at him.

"You're meant to be asleep."

"Your fidgeting woke me."

"I had a dream, _it_ woke me."

"Nightmare?"

"I suppose, of a kind, just, woke up feeling shaky."

"Are you telling me you needed a cuddle?"

She smiled slightly, "I guess so."

She twisted onto her side to face him, sliding her arm over his waist, one knee nudging between his warm legs.

"It's cold tonight."

He holds her closer, it isn't, but clearly she must feel it is.

"Can I ask you something?" He whispers after a while. It's 5:40 in the morning and any speech louder than a whisper feels intrusive.

"Yes."

"You said when you left home that you were still a virgin."

"A-ha… Are you wanting to know who I lost it to?"

He asks not out of some kind of warped curiosity, but because he feels there's something there which she's deliberately withholding, like the fact she hasn't really told him why she left Scotland, there have been mentions of things, hints, but not a full story.

"Tell me yours first," she says, and he can see her smile even in the dim light of the room.

"I was seventeen, she was seventeen, we'd dated for four months and then we started sleeping together. And it was clumsy and awkward and very, very sweet."

"That's nice," her voice is gentle. "How it's meant to be."

"Mine," she sucked in a tight breath and for a second he fears what she will tell him. Then she seems to rethink her story and starts elsewhere. "Growing up on a farm means you get to know the rest of the farming community pretty damn well, you know."

"I expected that to be the case."

"You share work at times, help out, it kinda feels like you're more than neighbours, almost family, just because it's the next farm over."

"I can understand that."

She shifted against him, turning her gaze from his, "There was a man, another farmer, and I…" her palm was flat on his chest, "I loved him. Wholeheartedly, completely, absolutely. Stupidly, probably. He was older than me, in his early forties, I was seventeen when I started to feel something was there. Maybe it's because he paid me attention, I don't know."

Whatever Charles had expected her to tell him this hadn't featured on the list, but he remains quiet, stroking his fingers across her back where he's holding her.

"It went on for a while. Flirtation, longing looks, little teasing comments. And then one Christmas we were at the barn dance, and he kept looking at me dancing from across the room, I was with Joe of course, we'd been 'a couple' most of our teenage years, and I saw him go outside, the farmer. Of course I was meant to follow, I knew that, as naïve as I was. And so I did and he was down the side of the barn, out of sight. Well, that was the first time he touched me, the first time we kissed. I was eighteen by then."

She breathed deeply, "We didn't have sex, not then, not for a long time, it was the most… the oddest thing… I was completely head-over-heels, enraptured. I would have done anything for him. Young and foolish and tripping over the fields to go help out on the next farm because I needed to see him, I had this physical need to be near him. Almost like a pain. An ache."

"This man was married?"

"Yes. With four children."

"Christ."

She sucked in a tight breath, "I know, you don't have to tell me, I know what I am."

He squeezed her shoulder, "Elsie…" he hadn't meant that, he didn't want her to think that he meant that.

"Stupid little whore."

"No… he should've known better…"

"I know I'm not blameless, I would never claim that. I was old enough to know what it meant, not all of it, but most…it took me years to really understand. But of course he kept pushing me away then reeling me back in and all the time I had this pretence up. I was dating Joe. I got engaged to Joe. It was like leading a double-life. Once I was engaged… well, that was when our 'relationship', whatever it was, became physical. One Autumn afternoon in the back of his barn, it could've been romantic but it was rushed and itchy on the hay and I had no idea what I was meant to do."

Charles felt sick at the thought of it, a man old enough to be her father doing that. No doubt for some ego boost, to deflower a beautiful young thing like Elsie, to have her fawning over him.

She turned her face up to his, "So, I'm sorry I lied to you, because I lost my virginity to him, I didn't really want anyone to know that, I didn't want you to think badly of me."

He didn't blame her for the 'lie', they hardly knew each other when she'd told him that she'd never slept with Joe, and she was really lying about that part of it.

"When I looked back I realised why he hadn't ever pursued intercourse before, it was safer when I was engaged." She licked her lips, "The inevitable happened and I realised that he was never going to be with me, not really, he was happy for me to marry Joe, because that meant I'd still be there, unhappy in an unfulfilling marriage and able to continue the affair. So, I ended it, I ended it with both of them, I had to tell my parents everything and that's why my father feels the way he does about me. Because his eldest daughter, the one who's meant to get married and take over the farm, turned out to be a stupid slut."

"Surely he never really thought that."

"Didn't he? I thought he was going to kill me when he found out." She stroked her hand up his side, "I stuck it for a month but things had changed too much, it was too horrible… I daren't leave the house for fear of seeing either one of them, I couldn't talk to my friends about it, my mum barely talked to me, my father left a room when I came into it." She shrugged, "So, I was a coward and I left."

"I don't think you were a coward; I think you were incredibly brave to go to a different country on your own at a young age."

"I told you I went to London for some months when I came to England." She figured now she'd started, she might as well tell him all of it.

"Yes."

"I really hated myself. I felt low and disgusting and worthless… and lost, in this giant, strange place that was a world away, a universe away, from my farm. But I got a job, a crappy job, working in some giant office block, but I needed to eat and somewhere dry to sleep which meant I needed money. I was like the mail girl, I guess, I spent all day rushing about from one floor to another delivering things. I wore the same outfit for the first three weeks because I didn't have any other decent clothes." She smiles at him, "Same shoes, all weather. I was thin though, like a whippet, because all I did was push that bloody trolley from one floor to another."

"I did a similar thing, worked for the Co-op when I was at school, my job consisted of moving packages from van to shelf and back again."

"Challenging work."

"Absolutely."

"Well, inevitably, I met a man. Alexander Green – big exec in the company. Again he was older than me, ten years though, not like…. Well, he was everything you're thinking he is – charming, rich, charismatic…Another excellent choice Elsie."

She ran her hand down Charles' bare arm, gazing past him, "He used to chat me up whenever he saw me; one night asked me to join him for a drink, then a few days later for another, then another, then another. I liked the attention. He helped me forget about home and what had happened there. And I started to think I might be happy again, with another man. He was lovely to me. He took me out and about, all over the city, meals, dancing, cinema. All that stuff. Until one night he took me to a hotel and we had sex. I was twenty-three. I thought it was love...again. That this time it was different, that he was into me for real. That I was so deeply in love. Entertaining schoolgirl ideas, you know, how girls do. He wasn't married, yes he was older than me but what did that matter? He was single and successful and seemed to like me."

She paused, and he held his breath, listening intently to her.

"As it went on the dates disappeared and the hotels fizzled out and soon he was just fucking me in my dingy one bed flat, not even a flat, the one _room_ I lived in, the horrid bed-sit that I could just about scrape enough money together for. And still…I was blind, stupid." She looked at him finally. "Because I was just his whore," she shrugged, "another man's whore. And I'm still disgusted with myself for it, letting him pick me up and put me down when he pleased. Letting both of them do that."

"You were only young."

"Still, I thought I was smarter than that. I thought I was independent and bright and knew it all." She almost smirked at herself, "You know how they say when you get a little big-headed the universe puts you in your place? Well, my day came; I was pushing the trolley down the corridor and he's in the coffee bit, you know, like an alcove thing where staff would gather for their break?"

Charles nodded.

"There's a small group of them and one of the other guys is going on about this hot new _bird_ who's started in admin, that they'd see who could get to her first. And Alex said that he rather enjoyed 'Els' because she just opened her legs whenever you were ready."

"Shit."

"I was devastated. All the things I've told myself to ignore I couldn't. Of course I cried in the toilets for like an hour, like a total twit. Then I marched into his office somehow… god somehow I managed to string a sentence together… this woman was there, another of the staff, I don't remember her name… she was clearly having a meeting with him and he must have read my face because he plays the perfect gent, 'What can I do for you Miss Hughes?'"

Charles' hand was on her back and his fingers flexed against her shoulder blade, "And you said?"

"Nothing, that he could do nothing for me. Because I knew who he really was. And I knew what he'd done. And that he wouldn't be doing it anymore." She took a shuddering breath, "And then I marched back out. And I went back to the horrid bedsit and I packed all my things into the same duffel bag I'd left Scotland with. I got on the bus, I went to the station, and the next train departing was to York so I went to York. Spent the next few days in a hostel. They helped me… can you believe that? In that city I was on my own for all that time, I only saw Alex outside of work. In London you disappear. But I was helped when I got here, they helped me fill in forms, I got a flat, a nice one this time, it was out of town, above a row of shops. And one of the shops was of course the estate agents."

"And you got a job there?"

"I did, within a week. And of course the sandwich shop was there too, where Beryl worked, I must've looked a state when I arrived because they gave me the left over sandwiches at the end of the day."

"Kind of them."

"I got better. I got healthy and I worked hard… I've thought so often over the years how I'd like to go back, see him, confront him. I could buy his fucking business now!" She suddenly exclaimed, then she stopped, paused and exhaled. "He changed me, they both did; they took something from me that I could never get back. But I'm not that same girl I was then, and sometimes I want them to see that. That I won't be used now. I'm tougher, colder maybe."

"And terrified of letting yourself fall for someone else?"

"No," she shook her head, "because I never felt myself falling for anybody else. Not until you. So I suppose I'm terrified of that, falling for you."

"You know I feel the same, don't you?"

She nodded her head very slightly, of course she knew.

"I care for you so very much, even from the beginning, that morning in my kitchen, the 1st of January. I started to care for you then."

"I know," she rested her hand on his cheek, her thumb brushing his skin. "Don't be jealous of Tom, you have no need, really. You have no need to be jealous of anybody."

He swallowed; here it was, right in front of him, something he'd been considering ever since he'd met this woman, perhaps something he'd been pining for all his life. His heart felt tight.

"Thank you for sharing with me."

She felt her cheeks blush, the realisation of all she'd told him, of how it might colour his view of her. She didn't want him to see her how she was then, but then she didn't want him to think she was just the woman he'd encountered at New Year neither – he needed to see all of her. And for some reason his view, his judgement, mattered.

"I think you're a very brave woman, a wonderful woman."

She opening her mouth to respond but then paused – what could she say to that?

"We're still getting to know each other," she finally whispered, leaning in to him, finding that nice position where she could curl against him and sleep.

"And I'm enjoying every bit of it," he kissed her head, held her warm against his body. "Goodnight Elsie."

"Goodnight." She breathed, and closed her eyes, remembering the farm, the smell of it, the breeze coming over the heather, the ache it brought to her bones at the end of a long day. She missed it, sometimes. She missed Becky more, and she'd have to tell Charles about her too soon.


	10. Chapter 10

_There are some things in this chapter that I've taken from my own experiences so I hope they read truthfully._

 _Thank you all of you for reading and reviewing, and to all the 'guests' who leave me such lovely comments but I'm not able to individually reply to. x R_

* * *

 **Sunday 14th February**

Sharing a room over the weekend means he's learned so much more about her. How she hangs her clothes before bed, for instance, or meticulously applies nightcream and then struggles to screw the silly lid back on. That she has one of those fancy electric toothbrushes, in purple, and it buzzes like a kid's toy and bleeps when its time to change angle. He's eyed it up whilst shaving and is actually considering getting one.

He knows that she hums in pleasure following an orgasm, sometimes giggles, her head back against the pillow, eyes closed and the most wonderful, serene smile on her face.

That she sleeps on her left side, legs slightly curled, and that at some point in the night she'll turn over and into him, her knees bumping his legs as she finds a comfortable position.

She sings in the shower. Her voice isn't half bad. And he lies in bed that Sunday morning listening to her, fiddling with the remote for the television, there's a button that says 'radio' but he's still confused as to how to find Radio 3.

When Elsie comes out to him, wearing her hotel robe and with a damp towel wrapped around her hair, he is waving the remote in mid-air as he conducts, proud of himself for solving the problem and finding his station.

"Well, good morning, have I unearthed a talent?"

"I wish, years of invites to recitals though, I have a polished love of classical, especially the cello."

" I can see that," she says, taking her hair down from the towel and brushing out the wet strands with her fingers. "It has a deep resonance," she says in an elaborately deep voice. "Like you."

"So, if I was an instrument I'd be…?"

"A cello? Perhaps, let me think on it." She leans across the bed, kissing his lips, "Happy Valentine's Day."

"Oh, I'd forgotten, what an arse."

She laughs, "I won't take offence."

As he sits up, plumping the pillows behind him, he watches Elsie take a package out of one of her drawers, wrapped in bright pink paper and topped with a white bow.

"What's this?"

"For Valentine's of course. I did pretty well hiding it away, didn't I?"

He feels his cheeks burn as he watches her; he hasn't gotten her a thing.

She places it on his lap, sensing the awkwardness radiate from him. "I didn't expect for you to take me away for the weekend and give you nothing in return."

"Elsie…" he stutters, fingers fiddling with the bow on top of the gift, "I may have forgotten to."

She clasps his arm, chuckling, "It's nothing grand Charles, more of a joke. I didn't expect a gift from you and I wasn't going to get you anything, but I saw this when I was out on Thursday and it made me laugh."

Relieved, he peels off the wrapping, revealing a large glass jar, the shape of an old sweet jar like the ones that used to stand in the corner shop when he was a boy. Inside are layers of heart shaped sweets; those red jelly ones with a white marshmallow back; pink, red and white jelly beans; love hearts; little chocolate hearts wrapped in gold foil. And on the front of the jar, cursive lettering, ' _Charles' jar of hearts_.'

"Ha, I shall enjoy these."

"I know you have a sweet tooth, I thought it cute."

"It is. Very." He sits forward, moving to kiss her, "Thank you. And Happy Valentine's in return."

"It's a lovely morning, shall we go for a walk before breakfast?"

"If you'd like to," he rested his hand on her knee, squeezing gently. "What time is it?"

"Just after eight, I doubt anyone will be down yet, given how late the party was last night, and how much alcohol was put away." She glanced down at his hand, "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," he grinned, his hand sliding up her thigh.

"Nothing, doesn't feel like nothing, Mr. Carson," she smiled lightly; there had been a slight apprehension, when she'd woken that morning, that things would be different following her revelations the previous night. Sometimes words are whispered in the darkness only to be regretted when the sun rises. Thankfully, Charles seemed as comfortable with her as ever.

"Do you mind?"

"Not in the slightest," she bent down to meet his mouth. "Shall we get dressed, go take some photos as it warms up out there?"

"Sure."

Reluctantly, Charles got out of bed, slipped on a pair of jeans, a t-shirt and a sweater, and set to fastening his laces as he watched Elsie dry her hair and tie it up messily on top of her head.

She noted him staring and grinned at him through the mirror, "Pretty cute, right?"

"Cute…" he chuckled, "…I have never used that word in my life."

"Ah, so I'm going to be good for your vocabulary too."

He shot her one of his 'Carson' looks and she giggled in return.

* * *

Elsie waited by the fence as Charles took a few pictures, wandering along the walkway and gazing up at the trees. There were oaks, sycamores, silver birch – she remembered from her Grandfather, he taught her the names, how to recognise the leaves. At present, in mid-February, they were just beginning to breathe again following the winter. She remembered autumn walks, stomping through the undergrowth, racing ahead of him and yelling as she kicked leaves with her sister.

"Hey," Charles said, his hand resting on her back. "You were daydreaming… you like trees?"

"Love them, a bit odd, some might say," she stepped forward placing her hands on the bark. "I have a weird need to touch them. But then, I am a bit odd."

"Just a bit…?" he smiled.

She turned, leaning back against the tree, "I _do_ feel a little odd, actually," she admitted, "saying what I did last night."

"Ah," he tucked his phone into the pocket of his jeans. "There's no need to be, I'm glad you told me, glad you felt comfortable enough to."

She glanced above her at the sound of fluttering wings; the sky bluey grey, twenty odd birds passing overhead, swooping and cutting through the air with delicate gracefulness; a smooth, easy motion.

"How great," he said, looking up, shielding his eyes, recognising the birds immediately. "My Grandfather kept pigeons."

"Did he really?"

"Yes, every Saturday with him when I was young, racing them. Learning about them."

"They move so beautifully, I've never thought of pigeons being graceful, just annoying."

"I know, not a great reputation."

She stepped closer to him, standing side-by-side, watching the birds circle back and forth above them, perfectly in sync.

"Someone's been up early this morning tending to them," Charles said.

"What was your Grandfather's name?"

He grinned, glanced down at her, "Charles."

"Ah, how wonderful."

"Well, everyone called him Charlie, Grandpa Charlie to me."

"And your father?"

"William."

"Very traditional," she shuffled up against him, the smell of the wax jacket he wore deep and velvety.

"Well, of course we were a very traditional family, I am." He rested his arm over her shoulders, tugging her against him. "I've got a joke about pigeons."

"Go on then."

"My granddad races pigeons – I don't know why, he never beats them."

She sniggered despite the weakness of it, "That was a bit poor really."

"I've got plenty more like that, darling, don't you worry."

They set off back towards the house, their trouser hems damp from the wet grass.

"Indulge me."

"My dog only responds to commands in Spanish. He's Espanyol."

"That's rubbish," she smiled, "you don't even have a dog."

"Go on then, smarty pants."

"Hmm, how about… Oooh, I know." She almost hopped about, clinging to his arm as she remembered one, "How many wives has a vicar got? Nun!"

"Brilliant," he laughed, "I'm banking that one to use in the pub at some point. I've always been interested in jokes, right back from my cabaret days. Puns and homophones."

"And accent. And clichés and stereotypes."

"True. You're smart, you know." He elbowed her arm.

"I am." She grinned, "When I want to be. I can be stupid at times, especially with men."

"Mmm, that's a different kind of 'stupid'. Am I allowed to ask you some things?"

"Well, it's a beautiful crisp Valentine's morning, why the hell not?"

He tugged her closer to him, wrapping her hand in his as they walked. "At some point, I'm assuming, after the horror of those men treating you so badly."

"They aren't just to blame…"

"Well, maybe not but still, I'm giving them an 80% split."

She smiled, "Alright."

"At some point you must have made a decision to start dating again."

She sucked in a tight breath, "Yes, okay, I did. You must've done the same though, after Alice."

"Well, I kinda went on a bit of a ' _I don't care, I can see who I want_ ' thing."

"Are you telling me you slept around, Mr Carson?"

"I'd hardly say that, I'm not exactly Brad Pitt, they weren't queuing up."

"Oh, poor you," she patted his arm.

"I just didn't allow myself to get into anything serious."

"I'd say the same, the first guy I saw after all that wasn't until, God, two years after moving to York. And yes, I know you want to know this bit, he was younger. But he was fun and it was easy and I actually enjoyed just hanging out with him. Going to concerts, theme parks, having fun. It was with him that I realised I actually rather liked sex."

Charles laughed, "Lucky him."

"Ha, maybe. It didn't last long. Seven months maybe, maybe less, he was a student and we were living different lives but it was nice whilst it lasted and it made me realise I didn't have to coop myself up in my flat after work, that I didn't have to punish myself for the rest of my life."

"I ran away. Got my degree and left the country as soon as I could."

"I guess we both ran, then, to different places."

"I guess we did," he said softly; he hadn't really thought about that before.

She squeezed his hand as they neared the path that led around the building and to the back door they'd set out from, "I'm not running now though."

"Me neither…" he opened the door, holding it for her, "I'm too old to even break into a jog."

* * *

"Oh crap," Elsie huffed, scrunching the map in her hand and brushing back her hair that stuck to her face.

"What?" Charles asked, coming up the hill behind her.

"We're lost."

"We're not lost, we've just… wandered."

"We're lost and we're losing." She huffed, pushing her phone into her jacket pocket.

"How are we losing?"

"Tom's just texted me, he and Sybil are already on point number four. We've just passed two."

"Slow and steady wins the race," he assured her, resting his hand on her shoulder.

"Or gets left behind."

"You're moody when you're losing, remind me never to play Scrabble with you."

"I'm not moody," she snapped, then smiled when she turned and saw his expression. "I wanted to win."

"You don't even know what the prize is."

"Is it you?" She asked, sliding her hands around his waist.

"I'm not sure the rest of the guests would be happy with that."

She laughed, standing on her tiptoes and stretching up to kiss him, "Oh I don't know."

"Now I'm worried this will sink into some sort of wife-swapping weekend."

Her eyes widened.

"Girlfriend swapping!" He quickly amended.

" _Lover_ swapping," she teased, pulling down the zip on his jacket and sliding her chilly hands inside.

"Do you really want to win?" He asked, kissing the top of her head as she snuggled against him.

"Yes," She pouted.

"Well, I happen to be a bit of a genius at map reading and clue solving. I was in the Scouts, remember."

Her head shot up, "Oh god yes, you were, I'd forgotten that."

"You, on the other hand, have many wonderful attributes Ms Hughes, but unfortunately map reading is not one of them."

She narrowed her eyes, "How so?"

"Wrong direction for the past twenty minutes."

"And you never said!"

He laughed at her outrage, "You seemed to be having fun. And you liked leading."

"How can losing ever be fun?"

"You're so feisty it's almost scary," he took the crumpled map from her hand, straightening it out. "Valentine's hunt indeed. Okay, so here," he pointed to the map, "you went North East and it should have been North West."

"Can we stick to left and right?"

"You're from a farming background!"

"Yes, top field, bottom field, the one near the McDougalls'!"

He turned her around, "Good job you got those walking boots though hey," he kissed her cheek. "Forward, Elsie, we're going forward for about ten minutes, seven if we up the pace."

"Wonderful, can we sing as we go to pass the time?"

"You sing away, which reminds me, how do you feel about chamber music?"

She shrugged, sliding her arm through his. "I'm not averse to it, why?"

"I mean you don't have to, but there's an event I attend every summer, outdoor performances, you sit on your blanket, eat your picnic, listen to live classical."

"That sounds rather lovely, actually. Isobel loves chamber music."

"I know, I wondered if they'd like to join us, make it a foursome, it's only Yorkshire so not far to drive there and back."

Elsie smiled, leaning in even closer to his warm arm, "I'll ask her." She breathed in the crisp air, feeling happier than she had in a very long time, before she started singing in a very delicate tone, " _Two of us riding nowhere, spending someone's hard earned pay. You and me Sunday driving, not arriving…_ "

" _On our way back home_ ," he joined in, in a whispered, almost embarrassed voice.

* * *

Clutching the bouquet of flowers Elsie could hardly keep the smug expression from her face as Beryl entered, muddy and dishevelled, through the front door.

"You didn't bloody win!" Her oldest friend exclaimed.

"I bloody well did!" Elsie grinned, curtsying grandly.

"Show off," Beryl unravelled her tangled scarf from her neck, "there's no way you did it, you're rubbish at directions."

"It's all about team work, Beryl, if you haven't got the team you can't win the game, and don't forget, it is _just_ a game!"

"Oh shut up, what did you win anyhow?"

"These, and some champagne and truffles I think, Charles took them to our room."

"And you just happened to hang around here waiting to greet people?"

"Tom's back, two minutes after we got here."

"Bet he's gutted."

"He didn't seem to care, besotted with this young lady as he is."

"And you're okay with that?" Beryl whispered, moving in close to her friend as other teams arrived back and recorded their time.

"I'm fine, really, I'm quite content."

"I kinda noticed that, 'our' room."

"Well, it is."

Beryl squeezed her friend's arm, "I'm going to shower before lunch, get the mud out of my hair."

"What the hell were you and Bill doing out there?"

"Now, don't you lecture me about rolling in the hay!"

"Harsh! Don't be long in the shower, Charles is starving."

"He's a big man, and I suspect you're wearing him out."

* * *

They were kissing inside the entrance to their room, both dressed for dinner and waiting for the gong to be rung. Her hands firmly on his shoulders, his looped around her back, fingers tracing up and down her spine. Endless kissing, fluid and easy, like the tide.

Her left hand shifted; nails tiptoeing up the back of his neck, into his hair, letting the thick strands slide between her fingers. Her mouth hungry on his, almost demanding, the subtle shift in her stomach signalling her desire for him. And she does desire him, more so as time goes on, it seems.

Most of the time when she's kissing a man she's very aware of her actions, knows what to do and when to draw him in and keep him interested. It used to bother her, that she couldn't let her mind go and just enjoy it, she must analyse it all instead. With Charles, her mind is starting to turn off when his hands are on her body.

"You'll make me forget wanting Sunday lunch," he says breathlessly.

"That's quite some claim."

He grips her tighter, one hand cupping her bottom, "I want to undress you all over again."

"Mmm," she steps back, deeper into the room, his body moving with hers. "It is Valentine's Day, they should have scheduled in time alone in the room."

"I'll mention it to Cora," his mouth moves to her neck; _how can he say no to the promise of such pleasure_? "How long before that gong goes?"

"You and that gong," she loosens his tie. "I swear you'd get one in your flat if you could."

He's almost on his knees, hands on her hips, mouth against her stomach, feeling her through the material of her skirt. "They're a wonderful piece of history."

She presses hard on his shoulders, gasping at his touch, "I don't want dinner."

"Me neither…" He's just pushing up the hem of her skirt, past her knees, exposing her stocking-clad thighs, when his phone rings, and the gong goes simulatenously.

Surprised, he falls back, and she giggles at his predicament, pushing her skirt down and sitting back on the edge of the bed.

Charles fumbles in his trouser pocket for his phone, giving in to gravity and lying back on the thick rug. From his position he has a great view up of Elsie, and her flowers (the bouquet he won for her) smell glorious on the bedside table beside him.

"Hello," he says, happier than he could ever imagine being.

His face darkens slightly and Elsie is immediately worried as he tries to sit; she gets to her feet, grabs his hand and helps him forward.

There are snippets of conversation; he asks questions, nods, mentally records the information. Then he's on his feet, the call ended and he's pulling his travel bag from the bottom of the wardrobe and lying it open on the bed.

"What's happened?" She asks, their passionate embrace from only sixty seconds before gone.

"It's my mum, I need to go see her."

"She's ill?"

"Having… one of her _turns_. They want me to go up there."

"Is it far?"

"From here? An hour or so."

She takes his shaking hands in hers, forcing him to stop, "You're worried…"

He breathes a little deeper; if he looks at her he thinks he might crumble in her arms and he doesn't have time for that, he isn't that man.

"She makes things up. Says things, makes claims, accusing strangers of God knows what. They've warned me that if it goes on she'll have to find a new place and I…" he shrugs, at a loss. "It took me long enough to find this one."

"I'll drive." She states simply, her heart aching for him.

"Elsie, you stay here, go have dinner with the others, enjoy the rest of the day."

"I'll be worrying about you," she lets go of his hands, "you're shaking, I'll drive."

Before he can stop her she's packing her little suitcase, putting her makeup away and clearing her toiletries from the bathroom.

"I hate rushing," he says as he checks the drawers in the room.

"Me too, call Robert, explain what's happening and we'll sneak out."

"Yes, right, I should."

"Do you want me to?"

"No, I can. I'll do it now."

"Okay, I'm just going to nip to the loo before we go."

Somehow, her very normal statement brings the situation some levity. "Thank you," he says, sitting back on the sofa, looking around the now decluttered room, free of their belongings, at her flowers still standing in the vase. "I liked this room."

"Me too. We can come back, it isn't going anywhere." She assures him kindly, shouting from the bathroom, hoping that her words mean even more – she isn't going anywhere.

"What shall we do with your flowers?"

"Take them your mother, of course. For Valentine's."

* * *

They chat very little during the drive; Elsie is concentrating on the sat-nav and driving an unfamiliar car, Charles is distracted and taking in the view, it feels slightly odd to him to be a passenger.

"There was a girl at school who used to really bother me," she suddenly says, and he's surprised by the sudden topic.

"Oh?"

"Used to follow me about, try to be like me – the way she dressed and the things she was interested in. It was unnerving."

"You had your own stalker."

"Apparently so, of course I was twelves years old, I didn't know what that meant. She just bugged me, used to turn up at the farm on a weekend wanting to hang around with me. My mother always invited her in for cake and she'd end up mucking out with us, it really annoyed me, I kept thinking ' _who's the girl to push herself into my life_?' You know? I felt aggrieved that I didn't have a say in it, she was just forcing herself into every situation."

"I almost feel sorry for her."

"That's because you're kind." She turned to smile at him. "Anyhow, I started to be really cold towards her, not nasty, I just avoided her at school when I could, avoided working with her in groups in science class or P.E. That kind of thing. And because I wouldn't be her best friend she turned, complete 360. Instead she became my enemy, which confused me even more. I'd never been the type for best friends, I don't do all that ass kissing and point scoring. I am who I am, I think I've always had that stubborn, independent streak. I don't mind being on my own, I never have."

"Me neither. Though I grew up a solitary child. I wouldn't have half minded a stalker!"

She laughed, glad she'd distracted him.

"What happened?" He asked, one hand gripping the corner of his seat – Elsie took corners at some speed.

"Not much. I heard rumours of things she'd said about me, girls gossiping, people who you thought were your friends suddenly joining in… my Gran always told me they were jealous, that was all. And I believed her. And I figured I didn't need that or them. But it's lonely at times…"

"Always being right?"

"Yes," she bit her lip, smiling, "I am often right."

"I won't disagree with that," he smirked, turning his attention back to the road ahead. "I have been lonely, though, I think I hide it well. Or I pretend to myself I don't feel lonely, I just get on with life and usually it's so fast and stressed that I don't even notice. I come home, have dinner, shower, collapse. There's no time to dwell on being lonely." He admitted, feeling oddly melancholy all of a sudden, and after such a wonderful couple of days. "Why are you telling me about the girl?"

"Because you make me want to be honest, that's why." She pulled heavily on the handbrake at the lights, and looked up at him expectantly.

"I appreciate that." He licked his lips, "Maybe it's not being lonely, per se, maybe it's being alone."

"Is there a difference?"

"I think so, a subtle one." He held her gaze, feeling somehow that her eyes were able to probe his inner most thoughts. "How you going to get home?" He suddenly asked without thinking as they pulled into a parking space.

"Sorry?"

"Well…"

"…I was going to come in."

He sucked in a tight breath, hands flat on his knees.

"Oh I see, so sharing a bed for a weekend is okay but sharing the real aspects of your life…"

"Elsie, I didn't mean that," he cut her off. "It isn't going to be nice."

"Don't piss me off Charles," she's already taken off her seatbelt and is reaching into the back for her handbag. "In a roundabout way I just tried to tell you neither of us is alone anymore, so, get out of the car and show me inside." She opened her car door and when he didn't move she shot back over her shoulder at him. "Let's go."

* * *

Elsie tried to make herself as inconsequential as she could. It was clear, when they'd arrived, that whatever fracas had taken place had dulled, but the matron who ran the place was in no mood and Charles' mother had been escorted back to her room with strict instructions not to leave it.

And that's where they were now; Charles discussing the incident with the matron, Elsie standing by the fire trying not to listen in whilst avoiding the piercing gaze of Mrs Margaret Carson.

"I have that skirt," Margaret suddenly said, her voice as sharp as ice-cold water.

Elsie looked across to the see the older woman pointing a slightly crooked finger towards her.

"That's my skirt."

Charles noticed the interaction and turned slightly from the matron talking to him, "It isn't yours mother."

"It damn well is," she moved to get to her feet, struggling in the slightly sunken chair. "It's mine, you've…"

Quickly, Elsie bent before her, "I'm very sorry, Margaret, I didn't realise. I promise I'll get it cleaned for you and return it."

"Mmm," she settled back in her seat, taking in Elsie's face, "see that you do."

Glancing around, Elsie spotted the footrest and shifted it closer to Margaret's chair, perching on it. "I bet you look better in it anyhow."

"I did," she smiled, suddenly grasping Elsie's hand. "I was quite the catch, you know."

"I can believe that."

"Nobody ever comes now, not one of them. I sit here, day in, day out, staring at that box, wasting away. Nobody cares, they leave me to these vultures."

"Mother, that isn't true," Charles insisted, still trying to hold a conversation with Miss Smyth whilst keeping an eye on the interaction between his mother and his… girlfriend, "I'm here several days a week."

"She took my purse!" The old woman snapped, pointing at the matron. "She came in when I was asleep and took my purse. Course they're all at it, sex and drugs, that young un who does the nails, she spent it on her drugs."

"Mrs Carson, you can't go making accusations." Miss Smyth said, her voice shrill with frustration.

"Mother please," Charles rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"What shoes did you wear with the skirt?" Elsie jumped in, the older woman's hand still gripping hers. "I find it difficult to decide."

Again Margaret's face changed, her eyes softened, "It's versatile, that's the key. I always liked the flowers."

"So do I, what are your favourites?"

"Mother likes seasonal flowers," Charles said.

"I've got a tongue!"

Charles rolled his eyes, whispered to the matron and shut the door after her as she left them alone.

"Daffodils this time of year, of course. Hyacinths. Primula. There's plenty out there. Used to love spring, picking the flowers, spying lambs, newborns. Once saw one born, you ever seen a lamb born?"

"Yes, more than once actually."

"Hark at you, la di da."

"Mum…"

"Oh stop mumming me, I'm joking, she knows that," She smiled at Elsie. "Make some tea, be useful boy."

Elsie cast him a sly look, "Make mine strong."

He saluted behind his mother's back.

"Do I know you?"

"No. I'm Elsie, Charles' friend."

"Used to know an Elsie, worked at the Dry Cleaners up Springer street with Doris."

"Not me, I'm afraid."

"Course it isn't. She was Liverpudlian, bit rough, you're clearly a Scottish lass."

Elsie laughed, despite herself. "I grew up on a farm there."

"Why on earth you moved to York, not for Charles?"

"No. I only just met him, actually, on New Year's Eve."

"Bout time he had a girl, his Dad thought he was on the other team for a while."

"Let's not go into that," Charles said, putting the tray down. "Now, mother, we need to talk about what happened today."

"I'm not discussing that woman. She lies."

"Mum, please, help me out here. We talked about this the other week, if you don't toe the line they'll want you out."

She waved her hand, "Let em throw me into the street, see if I care." She dropped Elsie's hand, shuffled forward in her seat, suddenly animated as she pointed at the television. "I've seen it on there, these old uns thrown out of care homes, they get payouts, it's all about that. Money."

She sat back, seemingly exhausted in her efforts and Charles, used to such outbursts, placed a teacup gently in her hand.

"I'm moving, anyhow," She whispered, raising her eyebrows at Elsie. "I'll be off soon. We're moving to the seaside. Scarborough. We always wanted to. Used to take Charles as a lad, paddling about in his nappy, got the bloody thing wet, clumsy sod he was as a toddler. Broke no end of vases. Me mother wouldn't let him near her china cabinet."

Elsie laughed again, "Hard to imagine him being clumsy, doing the job he does."

"William taught him all that, you know. Countless bloody hours with a teatray and my cups all missing. Used to serve us coffee after dinner by the time he got to nine. We'd only have Shepherd's Pie and he'd be there, playing like I was the Queen."

"That's sweet. Who are you moving to Scarborough with, Margaret?"

"William of course," she sipped her tea and Charles looked sadly towards Elsie. "Are you sleeping with him then?" Margaret suddenly asked and Elsie coughed on her drink.

"Mum, you can't ask that."

"Well something's put a spring in your step, no point pretending, everyone's at it. Even here. That many cars out there of an evening," she raised her eyebrows again, "orgies." She whispered.

"Mother!" Charles snapped.

"It happens."

"Not here."

"Of course, why ever not? You're such a prude."

"They're all in their eighties."

"So!"

Elsie laughed, "If they can manage an orgy in their eighties good luck to them."

"Don't encourage this," Charles said exasperated and Margaret laughed.

"He never did like anything crude, William," she patted his leg. "Always was a gent, weren't you darling?" She yawned and her teacup wobbled in her plate.

"You're tired, mum, want me to help you into bed?"

"Mmm, get that girl, young lass, does the nails. She gets me ready for bed." Her eyes were already closing and Elsie thought how quickly old people can drop to sleep, like babies.

"I think she'll have gone home mum, it's Sunday night." He got to his feet, moving their tea things away. "I'll do it mum."

"Get my night gown outta top drawer."

"I know," he said gently.

"I'll go wait in reception," Elsie said, getting to her feet and softly pressing her hand to his back, a fleeting touch but just enough.

"I'll bring the skirt next time I visit, Margaret."

"Don't be silly dear, I've never worn skirts."

* * *

"What?" She said, sitting sideways in her seat to look at him.

"What, _what_?"

"You have a look on your face, what is it?"

"I don't know, what do you think it is?"

She smiled, biting on her bottom lip, "I think it's a look that says, ' _Oh Ms Hughes, I'm so sorry the weekend's ending_.' It's that look."

"Ms Hughes?" He asked, chuckling.

She slapped his arm.

"Hey, I'm driving."

"Tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"What's the look for?"

He cast her a quick look, frowning exaggeratedly, "The weekend's over."

"I knew that was the look."

"I'm not sure which of us is the most childish."

"Definitely you," she patted his hand where it rested on the gear stick. "Want to get something to eat?"

"It's getting late for a Sunday…"

"You want to just drop me off home and be done with me? Not see me until next Friday?"

"That seems a rather depressing thought."

"There's a pub coming up on the right, they have homemade chips."

"Oh but you already know me so well."

"And local ale," she whispered.

"Lord above we're soulmates." He teased, indicating at the sight of the pub lights in the distance.

She leant into him as he pulled into a space, the handbrake digging into her hip as she kissed him, slowly and deeply.

"That was rather nice," he breathed, his eyes still closed, enjoying the feel of her against him.

"Mmm, well, be nice to me I may kiss you again." She tapped his chin with her index finger. "And you deserved it."

"Thank you for coming with me. And for being good with her."

"She's beautiful."

He reflected on that; he hadn't thought of her as beautiful for many years, but then he hadn't recognised her for many years.

"It makes me want to cry," he admitted, "she isn't who she was. But sometimes, when we're quiet and just sitting and her eyes, she's got the palest blue eyes, almost crystal clear."

"I noticed."

"I was mesmorised by them as a child and they're just the same and she's in there, somewhere, and I miss her."

"I can understand that." She squeezed his hand in hers. "She isn't gone yet though, Charles. Not at all."

He nodded, staring at their hands, "No. Not completely."

Kissing him again she pulled her hands away and opened the car door, reaching into the back for her bag.

"This is all very easy at the moment," He said, as he watched her get out of the car.

"At the moment?" She queried, waiting for him to catch her up on the car park.

"I didn't mean that."

She hooked her arm through his as he got closer to her, "You're expecting things to go wrong already?"

"No, I didn't mean that neither, I meant it's all so easy now."

"After our unconventional starting point?"

"I like how it is, how it feels."

"We're having fun, I'm sure we'll clash at some point."

"Over?"

"Something so inconsequential and small we can't even think of it now, like you buying the wrong tea bags."

"Or you talking over Andrew Marr's Sunday show."

She laughed heartily at that, "Sacrilege."

"I'm suddenly starving."

"We haven't eaten since breakfast."

"Good chips you say?"

"Very good, and fish too."

"That's my order sorted."

"And mine. Just a small for me, their servings are huge."

"I'm double your size."

"You make me sound a doll."

He held open the door for her and she preceeded him inside; the pub warm and alive with the faint buzz of Sunday evening diners.

"You go get a seat, I'll order. You want a G&T?"

"Yes please, and get some water too."

"Will do."

He found her five minutes later, scanning the table looking flustered.

"Table 15," she smiled.

"Right, won't be a sec."

When he returned, with two large gin and tonics and a cutlery basket under his arm, he looked tired and red faced.

"You need this," she said as he took a drink.

"Too right. Sorry, by the way, for ruining the weekend."

"Nothing's ruined, I do need to ask though."

"Go on…"

"You in a nappy falling in the sea, was that bit true?"

"Yes. If the sun came out Dad would drive us there, they used to go for longer when he retired. Never travelled far."

"Kinda sweet, though, and I so hope she has pictures of you tripping in the surf."

"I think I have them, I kept all the albums when I moved her out of her house. I sometimes worry that escalated it, leaving what she knew."

"I think, as with all these things, you did what was right, even if it wasn't easy." She took a sip of her drink. "So, do you ever take her?"

"Take her where?"

"Scarborough."

He shook his head, "We don't always get on, as you saw."

"That's just frustration, I think, and you're the only person she can really take it out on. We should take her for the day, I think."

"We?"

"Yes, unless I'm intruding."

"No."

"Well then, brisk walk by the sea, fish and chips, bingo. We only need go for a few hours."

"She's not very steady on her feet."

"Then we'll take a wheelchair."

"You'd really want to do that?"

"Unless you think I'm moving too fast."

He smiled shyly – right now, this seemed to be the perfect speed.

Charles reached across for her hand, "Friday seems a long way off."

"A-ha, but this date isn't over yet."

"Oh yes, dating. Is it my turn to plan?"

"Mine I think. Don't worry, I'll think of something good." She sat back, putting her napkin in her lap as their dinner arrived. "Oh and yes, to the outdoor music thing, rock concert…" she teased.

"Chamber music."

"Yes, that. Book the tickets, but best get six, Beryl will feel left out otherwise."

"Alright." He stared at her, his cutlery held in mid-air.

"Aren't you eating?"

"Are we a couple now?"

She swallowed, a smile at the edges of her lips, "I thought we'd already agreed to that."


	11. Chapter 11

_Sorry for delay in this chapter - crazy time of year, last few weeks with exam classes, hardly got time to see friends and family let alone a substantial block of quiet time to write :-( But don't worry, still got a well of ideas for these two._

 _As always, thank you for the support - it means a lot xxx_

* * *

 **Wednesday 17th February**

Elsie shivered as she sat on the bench overlooking the river; popping the paper bag she was holding onto the bench she took the lid from her coffee and emptied in a sugar before stirring and replacing the lid. The warmth of the cup was comforting and she sipped gratefully on the latte.

"Shove up a bit," Anna said, joining her on the bench.

"You're not smoking?" Elsie chided, "throw that thing away."

"I'm stressed."

"I've noticed; you've been short all week."

"Yeah, sorry about that." She stubbed out her cigarette and threw it into the bin. "I'm starving too."

"Eat your sandwich. Why are you stressed?"

"This whole thing with John's ex-wife, she's a bit…well, a bit of a bitch to be honest. Which I know is a total cliché for me to say."

Elsie shivered again, shifting her scarf tighter around her neck, "Why couldn't we go to a café for lunch?"

"Because I want to walk, you don't really mind?"

"I guess not," she took her sandwich from the packaging, "Let's eat quickly though and get moving."

"Did you get your flowers arranged?" Anna asked between chewing.

"I did," Elsie couldn't help the smile that came to her face. "They took up three vases, smell divine."

"Why did he send them?" Anna asked.

"Just… _because_ , he said." She shrugged, remembering the moment Anna had opened her office door with an armful of bright flowers on Tuesday morning.

"He's an old romantic, who would have thought it ey?" Anna said.

"Why ever not?"

"Well...he has a slightly frosty countenance at times."

Elsie laughed, "Don't tell him that. And he's a pussycat when you get to know him."

"Well, you seem able to wind him around your little finger."

"I'm not sure I've quite got that skill yet... Anyhow, things are clearly moving forward with you and John."

"Mmm, they are, I've no doubt how I feel for him, but it's not always easy, never straightforward with him. We seem to keep lurching from one thing to another."

"Nothing's ever easy, especially when you're young," she balled her sandwich wrapping. "You done? I can walk and drink."

"Yep, come on."

"So, I want to gossip with you." Anna said, as they fell into step beside each other and walked towards the bridge and back towards the town centre.

"Go on."

"Someone told me that Tom and Sybil are engaged."

"No way!" Elsie gasped, almost dropping her coffee.

"That's what I've heard," Anna shrugged, "I take it you know nothing about this."

"Not at all. The sly bugger. I can't believe after all these years of moving from one girl to another he's engaged. I'll be ringing him later."

"Don't let on I told you, I don't know if it's true. You don't feel weird about it?"

"Why should I?"

"You know…"

"Oh goodness, we're all grown ups, I've never had any hold over Tom, nor him me. We're great friends, that's all, old friends. I'm happy for him."

"And how does Charles view it…" Anna teased, elbowing Elsie's arm.

"God, like any man, I guess. And I'm just…" She felt her cheeks redden. "Look, I'm gonna come out and say this because I need to say it to somebody instead of keeping it in my head."

"You're not regretting it already, are you?"

"No! Of course not. He's a very, _very_ dear man. And I'm very much enjoying what's happening between us. That wasn't it."

What then?"

"It's a female thing," she jabbed a finger at Anna, "And don't go gossiping about this with Beryl or Isobel. They'll make fun of me."

"And I won't?"

"You better not, I pay your wages."

Anna laughed, throwing her empty coffee cup in a nearby bin, "Go on then, I promise to be serious."

"Alright, so I'm not complaining, in any way whatsoever…"

"Riiight…"

"The sex."

"It's shit?!" Anna exclaimed.

"No, don't be silly. It's fine, it's good, better than fine."

"So?"

"So, it just… New Year's Eve, those first two times before we even knew each other, well, they were…"

"Mindblowing?"

"God yes!" She exclaimed, throwing her head back and both women laughed, Anna hugging her arm tight around Elsie's. "And I know why, I can work out why; we hardly knew each other, we had no expectations or demands, or need to please…it was just fun."

"And now you've got the whole emotional thing going on?"

"Yes, that messy bloody stuff. Don't get me wrong, I don't want you to think I'm not satisfied."

"Course not."

"I'm just…being a selfish bitch." She covered her face, shaking her head. "I feel awful now saying it out loud."

"Maybe you just need to give it time, let things settle down between you. Settle into it."

"I know that. The sensible side of me does know all that, I just wanted to say it outloud to someone instead of keeping it in my head."

"Seduce him."

"That's not the issue, believe me, desire isn't an issue. I suppose that now, the both of us want it to be good."

"I can't believe we're talking about relaxing during sex on a Wednesday lunchtime."

"You mean, you missed this in the small print of your job description?"

They laughed again; two women clearly extremely comfortable in each other's company.

"When you seeing him again?"

"I'm meant to be organising our date for Friday night, haven't figured anything out yet though."

"You do realise you're in Manchester this Friday for your meeting?"

"Oh shit, I'd forgotten. Now I feel bad again, I don't want to let him down."

Anna smiled, leaning gently into Elsie, her eyes bright, "You're trying really hard with this, aren't you?"

"I… I guess I am. He's very nice to me, very sweet and I like him a lot." She shrugged, staring across the water. "I just don't want to let him down."

"What makes you think you will?"

"Experience." She let out a long breath, thinking of him made her miss his company, oddly. "Come on, I'm feeezing. Let's get back to the office and try to get done early tonight."

* * *

She did, indeed, manage to send Anna and Sophia home early that night. Elsie herself worked through until seven, calling Charles from her desk as she sat back in her chair, slipping off her shoes and curling one foot up onto the seat so she could rub her toes.

"Hello," he said groggily, and she pictured him in his hallway, digging one hand into his trouser pocket and grumpily expecting some salesperson trying to flog him something he didn't need.

"Hello gorgeous."

His tone instantly changed, "Well, hello, didn't expect you."

"Clearly. What are you up to?"

"Ironing. And watching the Channel 4 news."

"Anything interesting?"

"Same old rubbish; I'm increasingly worried about the state of our world, Elsie, violence, discrimination. Idiots like this cretin somehow convincing thousands that giving him unlimited money and power would be a good idea."

"Are we talkimg Trump, here?" She leant forward to tap on her computer screen and close it down.

"Yes. Idiot. Only he can't be that much of an idiot."

"Oh, I think he is."

"Most advanced, powerful country in the world and this is what they want as a leader?"

"Not all. Do you want to talk politics now or save the dissection for another time?"

"Sorry…" she heard him smile. "What are you doing?"

"Just finishing up at work."

"Long day." He said soothingly and she thought of his hand on her hip in bed, his fingers moving down her arm.

"So, Friday."

"You've got a plan?"

"I have to go to Manchester, I'll be back later in the day."

"Oh." He was crestfallen.

"I'm free Saturday though, all day."

"Let's do Saturday then, go out somewhere."

She could hear the disappointment in his voice. "How's your mother?"

"Not bad this week, not bad." He shuffled from one foot to the other, the phone pressing hard against the shell of his ear. "Look, Elsie."

"Mmm?"

"Why don't you come over anyhow, Friday, when you get back? I'll make you dinner, something that just needs heating through, you can stay the night. We can go out Saturday."

"You're sure?"

"Absolutely."

"Then I'll take an overnight bag with me, come straight to you when I get back to the city?"

"Yes, do that."

"Alright." She said tenderly, smiling.

"Alright." He closed his eyes, listened to her breathing. "Looking forward to seeing you."

"And you."

* * *

 **Friday 19th February**

"Hello, and how are you today?" The little boy asked, his hair fluffy, stuck up on one side, flat on the other where he'd been asleep in his car seat.

Charles glanced over the top of his glasses, rumpling his newspaper and watching as the boy stood staring at a young couple a few tables away; they grinned at him but didn't reply and the boy skipped around, spinning in the space between the tables and the counter and dropping to the floor.

"Alfie. Up," a woman said, a baby bouncing on one arm.

The little boy, Alfie, jumped to his feet and hoisted himself into the spare seat, picking up the toasted sandwich on the plate before him and taking a bite, bobbing in his seat as he chewed.

Charles smiled, took a sip of his cappuccino and returned his attention to the paper. _Oh to be young and carefree._

On the table next to him a woman about his age sat down, dressed head to toe in purple and wearing a long silver chain with an overly large cross dangling from the end of it. Charles half watched as a younger man joined her, carrying a tray with two black coffees on it, he sat across from her, put the coffees down, and then spontaneously reached across and took hold of the woman's hands, turning them over, his thumb circling her palms.

At first Charles thought they must have been dating, and boldly looked from one face to the other wondering what on earth they had in common. Then the young man, dressed in a scuffed leather jacket with a nose chain connected to his earring, spoke.

"Be thankful for all we have. For all we've yet to have. Remember what we've lost."

The woman's head was bowed, and Charles felt decidedly awkward, like he was intruding upon their conversation. He never was very good with all this type of thing, despite his Grandmother being extremely religious, to the point of reciting scripture to him.

He thought of Elsie's joke about vicars and wives and bit his tongue to stop himself laughing.

"Not going to be the same without him…" The man said.

At that point Charles turned off; now he really was intruding if he listened in. He had that ipod thing (a birthday gift from Mary the previous year) in his bag and thought of putting his headphones in, but then realised they'd know why if he did it now. So, he took another sip of his cappuccino and turned the page of The Guardian.

He was meant to be meeting Robert over an hour ago, but of course Robert had gotten caught up somewhere and delayed. Charles had decided he was there so he might as well have some lunch and relax with the paper whilst he waited. And it had been nice, in fact these days he was feeling more and more like a retired man and the idea didn't pack quite the same punch of fear it did a few years ago.

Apart from his mother; taking care of her – and paying for her care – still weighed heavily on his mind. Perhaps he continued to work for that more than anything else. He knew Barrow could manage things if he really wanted to step back, he'd probably even buy the business from him, the Carson name still carried weight within the industry and Thomas would no doubt enjoy being the big boss. Even if he couldn't afford it, his parents would probably help him out, they'd not done much for him over the years, they could manage to cough up a couple of grand surely…

…But then he was digressing. Even if Barrow was interested in buying the business from him, even if his parents did offer to help out, was Charles really ready to pack it all in?

He folded his paper and put it down, sliding off his reading glasses and pinching his nose as he sat back and finished the last of his coffee. He'd have tea with Robert, it was afternoon after all.

Charles was scrutinising a gentleman across the coffee shop, one who was reading a book, holding that in one hand, yet repeatedly tapping the side of his face with his other, leaving behind a red and raw looking cheek. He chewed the inside of his cheek, thought of how Elsie would say the man was overly anxious, thought of how he thought of him as just an odd-job and that he should have more patience with things.

He glanced at his watch, it was a quarter to three, Elsie was coming over around seven and his heart beat a little quicker at the thought.

"Ah," he said, raising his hand in a 'hello' as Robert came in, and, to his dismay, Cora – bang went any chances of a heart-to-heart with his old friend.

"Hello darling," Cora said, coming over.

He got to his feet and they exchanged kisses and he pulled out a chair for her, took her coat (ever the butler) and let her sit before he did so himself.

"Tea?" Robert said as he sat beside Cora.

"Coffee for me," she said.

"Tea. Yes." Charles agreed. "So, what caused the delay?"

"Well, what didn't." Robert rolled his eyes. "Daughters, you're lucky you're childless."

"Robert really…" Cora admomished, and Charles felt something in his stomach sink. "It's Sybbie," she said more gently, looking to Charles' face, "You've known her since she was a girl Charles, you know her almost as well as we do, doesn't this whole business surprise you?"

He hated to admit that he wasn't all that sure what 'business' was being referred to – such as he was caught up in his own love life – but he maintained his composure, searched his brain and hopefully questioned, "Tom?"

"Yes. Tom." Robert almost snapped. "That boy."

"He's hardly a boy," Charles said, glad of the tea arriving, giving his hands something to do. He felt decidedly awkward about this whole thing and had a sense of where things were headed.

"You know him, don't you?" Cora asked, placing a hand very softly on his arm.

"Hardly," Charles heard the grumble in his voice and saw Robert smile. "Elsie knows him well," he admitted.

" _Very_ well," Robert interjected.

"Robert!" Cora said again, her voice a little more steely.

"There's nothing in that now," Charles said quickly, "they're friends, old friends." He licked his lips, "What is it you're worried about?"

"The guy has no prospects, he's a womaniser and my youngest daughter is rushing headfirst into something she should be avoiding."

"We have to give her the benefit of the doubt," Cora said, sugaring her coffee, "she's bright Robert, she wouldn't make a rash decision."

"Wouldn't she? Moving in with the man? Already!"

"She's doing what?" Charles spluttered on his tea – he wondered if Elsie knew, what she'd think.

"It does seem sudden, I'll admit," Cora said, and Charles felt a little sorry for her, witnessing, as it was, her softer side. "But she'll be okay, I'm sure she will. Won't she?" She looked hopefully at him.

"Of course she will." He put his teacup down. "I haven't really… look I can't say I know the man. But I know Elsie, and she wouldn't be such good friends with him if he was a…"

"…Scumbag?" Robert suggested.

"Not a decent sort." Charles offered instead.

"Find out," Cora suddenly said earnestly, and he realised the reason for her joining them. "Can you, Charles? Please?"

He fiddled with his teacup; he didn't really relish the thought of talking to Elsie about Tom – he didn't really want to think about the man and the fact he'd once or twice had a place in Elsie's bed let alone quiz her on his credentials as a decent boyfriend.

"Yes," he said, "I'll find out."

"I'm Alfie," a small but confident voice sounded to his left and he turned toward the window, spotting the little boy from earlier standing in the deep windowsill and staring at him. A thin arm stuck out and a sticky looking hand wobbled towards Charles' jacket, "Hello, and how are you today?"

Charles took hold of the small hand in his bear-like paw, "Hello, I'm Mr Carson, and I'm quite well thank you. Are you training here?"

"I'm not old enough, I don't think."

Charles heard Cora smile, "How old are you?" He asked.

"Five. And you?"

He smiled, "Much older, years and years."

"I'm off school today because we had to go to the Doctor to get my jabs."

"Oh," Charles said, nodding his head as if he understood.

"Where's your mother little chap?" Robert asked and the boy appeared to see him for the first time and pointed across the coffee shop to where a young woman was fussing with a crying baby.

"That's my brother," Alife said, "he cries. A lot! I've asked mummy to send him back but no such luck." He turned his attention back to Charles, "I had a Grandpa like you, he was very tall and I got to go on his shoulders and I could touch the ceiling when we did that."

"You don't do that anymore?" Charles asked.

The boy shook his head, pressing his hands on the edge of the table and leaning forward, his knees pressing against the side of the table.

"He's in heaven now," Alfie said nonchalantly. "I'll see him later. Like my Daddy. He was in the army but he's gone to visit heaven now too."

"Oh," Charles said again, and swallowed past the lump in his throat.

"Alfie, for goodness sake, leave these people alone."

Charles looked up to the young woman who was nearing their table; she was startingly beautiful and even younger than she seemed from across the room. A natural redhead, her skin was tinged with freckles yet her eyes were dark, tired, as if she'd cried one time too many.

"I really am sorry," she said, balancing the baby on her arm.

"Oh not to worry," Charles got to his feet, "I rather enjoyed our chat."

"What's his name?" he asked, indicating the baby.

"Charlie."

"This is Mr Carson," Alfie said, walking along the edge of the windowsill, the sunlight on his strawberry blonde hair.

"Get down," she snapped again, holding a hand out to him, Charles noted the cuff of her jacket looked worn.

"Charles," he said, "My name is Charles," he smiled knowingly at the baby, "and these are my friends Robert and Cora."

"Very nice to meet you all," she shook his hand. "I'm Ethel."

Cora looked up at her, "Are you from here?"

"Originally yes, but I've been away, just moved back. Looking for a job, I was hoping they'd have something here," She glanced to the counter where the owner was watching her. "We best get going. Come on Alfie."

"Bye bye to you all." He announced, jumping down from the windowsill.

Charles watched him wistfully as he ran away.

"Cute kid," Cora said, "but poor woman, sounds like a widow and with two young children."

"Yeah, imagine losing a parent at such a young age." Robert said.

"I've had a lifetime with my mother," Charles reflected aloud. "That's something to be grateful for."

* * *

Charles had spent the past couple of hours preparing his flat for Elsie's arrival. He'd dusted (a task he loathed), changed the bedding, had every window open (and frozen as a result of it) as he ironed and made sure there were no lingering fragrances.

Then he'd showered, agonised over what to wear – nothing too formal, it was a casual, lazing-around-his-flat evening, but casual wasn't one of his favoured looks. Nor easy to achieve. For him at least.

He was just stirring the pasta sauce when the door buzzed and he eagerly wiped his hands on a towel and pressed the intercom to let her into the building.

"Hello," she smiled broadly as she got to the top of the stairs, pausing and sighing dramatically. "Doing those stairs in heels is a good workout."

"I like this look," He said appreciatively, leaning against the door frame.

"This is my serious business look."

"Kinda sexy." He shrugged, moving forward to take her overnight bag.

"I'm a bit too tired to feel sexy," she leant into him, kissing his cheek. "Hi."

"Hi," he said, meeting her mouth with his.

"That was nice." She whispered, instantly relaxing

"I've been smiling all day at the thought of seeing you." He squeezed her hand with his.

"That's a very sweet thing of you to say."

He felts his cheeks warm, and stepped back toward his door, "So, you want to have some dinner?"

"Yes, I'd love to," she followed him inside. "I'm very much looking forward to trying your cooking, I have to say."

"Ah well, I am obviously a culinary genius, it goes without saying."

"I expected nothing less."

* * *

Elsie put her fork down and pushed her plate slightly away, smiling over at a proud looking Charles as he folded his napkin on the table.

"Well…?" He asked, a smirk already tugging at his lips.

"Well, it's the best tuna pasta bake I've had."

He threw his head back when he laughed, and she watched his neck vibrate, his entire body shake with it and somehow the joy that came with watching him laugh made up for the rather simple dinner.

"I do a great tomato soup too."

"Oh yes, is it Heinz's best recipe?"

"It might be, but with a few added benefits – a sprinkle of mixed herbs, a dash of pepper, a drizzle of cream. You have to get the balance just right."

She sighed heavily, placing her chin on her folded hands and fluttering her eyelashes, "Oh stop, please, I won't ever want to leave."

"Part of my evil plan."

She leant back in her chair, smiling, feeling relaxed, "I'm so tired, can we plonk ourselves in front of the television for the night?"

"That was part of my plan too," he started clearing the dishes. "A quiet evening, I'll just load the dishwasher, you get yourself settled in the lounge and I'll bring coffee and dessert, because one thing I do know how to do is make crumble and custard."

"There was nothing wrong with the pasta. It tasted great."

"Not very fancy, not very impressive."

She lifted her head up to him as he cleared her plate, kissing his cheek as he leant over her – his warm fragrance comforting, "But it was very you." She kissed him again, "Do I get to own the remote control?"

"Depends on two things."

"Which are?"

"What you choose to watch…and the kind of pyjamas you've brought for sleepover."

"Ah well, I already told you, I don't 'do' pyjamas."

"Well then, consider yourself remote control Queen."

* * *

She made short work of getting changed, washing her face free of makeup and tying up her hair. She remembered his bedroom well, the warmth and comfort of it. She noted the different bed sheets, the way the light came through the two windows along one wall, how organised he was that he'd left hangers out for her clothes. His care made her smile.

Despite her claims she had brought something comfortable to change into – loose trousers and a long vest top, and slouchy socks, it was still February after all. She closed the bedroom curtains and changed quickly, listening to Charles humming in the kitchen.

She felt free to be nosey in his lounge, scanning the few pictures he had along one cabinet – how young he and Robert looked in one, clearly Robert and Cora's wedding. A sweet one of him with the Crawley girls too, a five-year-old Sybil perched on his knee, laughing as he tickled her waist, Mary stunningly regal even at age nine. His decoration was sparse, perhaps less homely than hers: a few of his mother's knickknacks on the bookshelf; family pictures from across the ages; many books, many many books, some ancient copies too. Good candlesticks in the cabinet, polished silver bowls – she was eyeing them when he came in carrying a tray.

"They were my Grandfather's, he won them, at darts."

"Really?"

"Really. Used to play in the local club, I only watched a couple of times, mother thought it too rowdy for me."

"Certainly not the kind of place for a well-to-do butler."

"Quite. They're silver though and engraved; Gran was dead proud of them, hated the fact he won them at darts but proud of the shine she could get on them."

"I suppose she taught you her polishing tricks?"

"She did."

"And how has your mother been this week?"

"Fine, really, considering. Pretty calm, tired actually, when I went the other day." He indicated their desserts. "So, rhubarb crumble?"

"How wonderfully English."

She joined him on the sofa, curled her legs beneath her as he passed her a bowl.

"Do you usually sit in that chair?" She asked, noting the blanket lying across it.

"Mostly, put my feet up, read the paper. The sun catches it just right of an afternoon."

"I'm picturing it now."

They sat side-by-side on the sofa as they ate, relaxed and at ease with one another, her legs tucked beneath her, his feet on the coffee table.

"This is very good, better than my Granny's, hers could be soggy."

"I'll take that as a compliment,"

"It's meant that way. Good custard too."

"Homemade you know, not Bird's."

"I can tell, nice vanilla flavour."

"Forced rhubarb, I was sceptic at first but I'm getting into it now."

"It's good." She pointed her spoon at his foot, "You've a hole in your sock."

He wiggled his big toe where it stuck out, "I know. Happened earlier, rushing around cooking, you know. These are my Friday socks too." He lifted his foot so she could see 'Friday' across the side of it in red cotton.

"Sexy." She smirked, "You want me to sew it?"

"Sew the sock?"

"Yes, I can you know, learned as a child."

"This is bordering on motherly behaviour."

She shook her head, "I wouldn't go that far. I'll sew it then we can watch a movie?"

"Sounds good, open that red wine you brought – which you really didn't need to bring."

"You don't have a sleepover without bringing a gift."

"I guess so." He tapped his spoon in his empty bowl, "Good pud."

"Very good."

"So," he glanced casually over at her, "Wanna get naked and roll around on the rug in front of the fire?"

She laughed loudly, "Not straight after dinner, give me an hour or so to digest."

He grinned, proud at himself for being so forward with her, for allowing himself to have fun. "I made a friend today."

"Oh?"

"Alfie, aged five going on a hundred. Quite the little man, I reckon I could start now and have him as a world class butler within two years."

She chuckled, "Sounds like a plan. I think you'd be a good Grandfather."

"Would've been. Made different choices."

"And me." She twisted her head to look at him, "You thought of having children?"

He swallowed, looked to his feet and his big toe sticking out of his sock.

"I'll go get that wine."

"And your sewing box?"

"I'll get that too."

* * *

He sat in his chair as he watched her fix his sock; one foot bare and chilly, hands folded in his lap. They didn't talk, didn't need to, she had her glasses on and was concentrating on the small hole – just big enough for his toe to find its way free – he found it endearing how she bit down on her bottom lip as she focused, how her hair fell from the clip she'd put in.

And here she was. Sitting in his lounge, on his sofa, sewing his sock, of all things to be doing on a Friday night.

"There. All done."

She turned the sock the right way round and handed it to him.

He stuck his hand inside, felt around where the hole was, "Good as new."

"I aim to please," she yawned, putting away the sewing things. "I'm sleepy, promise not to judge me should I fall asleep during the film?"

"Not at all. You found something for us to watch?"

"Alien is on at nine."

He wrinkled his nose, "Sci-fi?"

"Kind of, you've never seen it?" She asked yawning again and he shook his head. "Well, think horror too, tension, drama. Good stuff." She curled her legs up, patted the cushion beside her, "Come on, let's get comfy, get the big light off, bring that blanket over."

"Yes mum."

"Snuggle up…"

"Yes Elsie." As he turned the lights off he was glad he'd lit the fire, the ambience of the room was just perfect.

"I like how you say my name," she said, cuddling up beside him.

"I like how you say mine, Scottish tinge." He kissed the top of her head.

Soon she was lying down across the sofa, her head in his lap, his fingers tickling up and down her neck as he watched the film. There were few times in his life he could recall feeling so completely at ease with himself and the company he was keeping.

In some ways they were so very different, in others they had such similar tastes, similar wants and needs. And being still on a Friday night, eating well, watching a film, sharing a bottle of wine with the fire lit and a blanket over their bodies...

Nothing could be better.

When Charles cursed loudly Elsie's body jerked upward, her forehead gently hitting his chin as she moved.

"Christ almighty!" He exclaimed.

"What the hell?"

"That bloody thing scared me to death."

She stared blearily at the television screen, the adverts were on and Charles muted them, rubbing his forehead.

"Bleeding hell."

She fell back into his lap again, closing her eyes. "Which bit was it? The chest explosion?"

"Yes, ripped right out of him and scurried away."

"I can't believe you've lived all these years and never seen it."

"Give me nightmares," he gazed down at her, toying with her hair, "Did I wake you?"

"Yes," she mumbled.

"Sorry," he said gently, bending to place a kiss to her forehead, so very happy to have her sleeping on him like this. He smiled to himself and she opened her eyes and looked up at him.

"I need a cup of tea."

"Right now?"

"Yes."

"Okay, I'll go do it."

"No I will, I need to pee anyhow. I'm sure I'll find my way around the kitchen."

"You've not finished your wine."

"I will." She pushed herself up, felt his hands on her back steadying her. "You want a cup?"

"You know, I think I will."

"Aren't we the last of the wild things?"

"I'm past those days, if in fact I ever was 'wild'."

"You just sit here and be scared, Mr Carson, I'll be right back with your tea sir."

He chuckled, watching her get their wine glasses, hers half full. "You lied about being naked."

"We aren't in bed yet…" She teased, swaying her hips as she walked away from him.

For some reason, she decided to take a sip of her wine as she crossed the short hall to the kitchen, balancing his glass in the other hand and watching as the red liquid slid down her chin and dripped – one, two, three – onto his thick, cream carpet.

"Oh shit! Shit, shit, shit…"

Charles hurried into the kitchen to find Elsie rummaging in the cupboard beneath the sink.

"What on earth are you doing?"

"Looking for a cloth or something," she sat back on her haunches, brushing a hand through her hair. "I spilled my wine. I feel terrible!" she explained. "Red wine on your gorgeous beige carpet, I feel so awful about it."

"It doesn't matter."

"Of course it does," she started searching in the cupboard again, "I want to clean it for you, or try to. If it doesn't come out then I'll pay for it to be cleaned properly."

"Elsie, it doesn't matter."

"It does. My first night staying over here," she looked up at him from beneath her fringe, "first proper night, I mean, with you and I…" she waved a hand between them. "Well, I go and ruin your carpet, I feel awful about it."

"You said that." He bent beside her, finding a sponge and some cleaner. "But I'm sure it will come out. Where is it?"

"In the hall, I wobbled as I was carrying the glasses in here."

"I didn't see it."

She got to her feet, "I'll show you."

He followed her out, smiling at how very nervous she was about the whole thing.

"See. There," she bent to point out the three droplets of wine.

"They're miniscule."

"You can still see them though," she held her hand out for the cleaner. "Turning your carpet pink. I'm so sorry."

"Stop apologising, they're already disappearing."

"What a klutz."

He laughed, "I wouldn't say that. Instead I'm going to think you were skipping your way in here, so excited at the prospect of going to bed with me."

She raised her eyebrows, "Yes, that's exactly it!"

"What?"

"Nothing."

He suddenly felt like someone had hit him in the chest. "You're not looking forward to going to bed with me? I know I'm nothing to shout about…"

"Charles… Why are you getting all panicky?"

"I'm not." He shrugged.

She got to her feet, pressing her hands to his shoulders, "I look forward to every moment with you."

"Oh…"

"If indeed you ever invite me to stay again, now let me clean this then make the tea and get back to the film," she waved him off, "Go, you'll miss it."

He rolled his eyes, "I don't think I'm cut out for alien invasions."

* * *

Elsie was asleep before Charles even got into bed. He was still recovering from the gore and shock value of the movie – and secretly checking on his slightly damp carpet – before he joined her.

She was snuggled on one side, facing the lamp that stood on his side of the table, the light falling across her face, hands tucked beneath her chin. He watched her as he undressed; partly content with how lovely she looked and how good it would feel to curl next to her body; and yet part of him desperately in need of making love to her. It had been almost six days and he'd missed her touch, the smell of her, the heat of her.

He lay back, felt her shift closer, rest her head against his side and her arm over his stomach.

"Night," he whispered, reaching over to switch the lamp off.

When he woke the room was in semi-darkness, the moonlight coming down the hall from the generous lounge windows. The bedroom door was slightly open and he blinked as he made out Elsie's figure coming down the hall and shutting it to behind her; climbing into bed beside him and moving next to his body.

Her cheek pressed against his bare chest and she shifted her face, her mouth pressing against his skin. He lay still, eyes closed again, enjoying the feel of her touching him.

Her hand ran delicately over his chest, searching, nails grazing sensitive spots, and her lips, mouth, trailing gentle kisses over him, following the path her fingertips had already taken.

Silent and warm in the moment he lifted one hand, let her know he was awake by placing it on her back, fingers wide and outstretched as he felt her spine twist as she moved.

Her thigh pressed over his leg, hot against him, and she shifted until her body was fully on top of his, lying full length against him. Her mouth moving up, over his neck, feeling him swallow, breathe that little bit deeper. One hand moving into his hair, tugging teasingly on the thick strands, deliberately sighing – because she knew what that sound did to him.

"What time is it?" she whispered and he was surprised by her voice in the heat of that moment.

He blinked rapidly at the stark light of the bedside clock, his tongue thick in his mouth as he breathed to form words, "Three, almost three."

"Mmm," her hand trailed over his belly, beneath the band of his pyjama bottoms, "and you're awake?"

He couldn't help but smirk at her loaded comment, "It would seem so." He felt his chest expand with joy as she smiled in the dim light. "So, I had something to ask you."

"Oh…?" She whispered huskily, moving her mouth back to his neck, letting her tongue stroke his skin.

He thought of Cora's request and wondered how to broach the topic – perhaps he should just ask if she knew about Tom and Sybil moving in together…

"Oh god, Elsie…" He groaned as she made quick work of removing his pyjamas, her hand closing around his growing erection.

"What do you want to ask me?" She breathed against his skin, he could feel the heat of her mouth hovering on his lower belly.

"I forget." He flopped back in the bed, shuffling down slightly, kicking the quilt aside. "I forget everything except you."

She giggled, straddling him, shifting up his body until her mouth found his in the dusky light. Sitting back she watched as his eyes shifted from her face to her breasts, his hands reaching, eager to touch but so gentle, he took his time, he waited for her to lead. She lifted his hands to her breasts, watched his face as he touched her; mesmerised, enraptured.

Fleetingly, she thought of her conversation with Anna earlier in the week, of her selfishness for wanting their sex life to be as exciting and raw as it was that first time. When they were strangers.

This was something different, inevitably. And in time, no doubt something much more fulfilling.

Stretching her hands down she squeezed his upper arms, reached for his shoulders, until he got the idea and sat forward, moving carefully until she'd eased her legs around his waist and they'd both found a comfortable position.

"Simply beautiful," he whispered, a hand shifting her hair so he could kiss her cheek, down her neck, across her collarbone. He lingered there, the tip of his tongue moving delicately along the porcelain skin, feeling the weight of the bone beneath, the heat of her body, the pulse of life at her neck. She was smooth and almost fragile; he felt that particular part of her was like some fine antique he had to handle with care.

But her thighs were hot, her muscles strong as they gripped around his body.

She slid a hand between them, he moved his bottom a little, found a better angle; held her hips as they moved together to make it work.

Slow.

Slowly.

And then he groaned her name and her fingers dug into his shoulder. There. Complete.


	12. Chapter 12

_I've spent a while working on this chapter because there's a lot of emotions covered and I wanted to try and balance them. So, sorry for the wait but I hope it's worth it. And, as always, thank you to you wonderful people who support the story and leave reviews. xxx_

* * *

 **Chapter 12**

 **Friday 25** **th** **March**

"Hello darling," Elsie said, getting to her feet and drawing Tom into a hug. "You're looking wonderful."

"As are you, gorgeous lady." He kissed her cheek, held her tight, "So good to see you."

"And you, it's been a few weeks. You're so busy nowadays."

"Erm, says the woman who hasn't had a weekend free since what, Valentine's?"

She felt her cheeks warm, and took a sip of her water, "Yes well, I'm not sure you're one to be passing comment."

"Elsie, I have no shame at all in admitting I am one hundred percent taken."

"So I hear! And sharing an abode?" She leant forward across the table to him, slapping his hand. "How come I find out second hand?"

"Gossips. I bet that was Anna," he waved over a waitress. "You ready to order?"

"Mmm, hi," she smiled up at the waitress, "can I have a Gin and Tonic, and I'll have the pear and stilton salad I think. Thank you."

"You're being good. I'm going to have this stacked burger thing, and chips and I'll have whatever's on tap."

"Bitter or lager?"

"Bitter. Thanks."

"How the hell do you stay so trim?"

"I work out. Besides, it's Friday lunch, might as well indulge."

"I don't want to eat too heavy, Charles is coming over tonight and I said I'd cook."

"Little homebody, you never cooked for me."

"I made you toast," she laughed, "and besides, it was different."

"Very different. What are you cooking him?"

"Steak, I'm going to make garlic butter too, salad, homemade chips…"

"You definitely never made me that!"

"I rang Beryl for advice last night, got it all written down and stuck to the fridge door."

"That's the Elsie I know. Can I ask you something?"

"Go on," she took her drink from the waitress, "don't ask me about the birds and bees though, we're past that."

"Ever a comedian." He took a gulp of beer, "So, is it love?"

"With you and Sybil? It certainly looks like it."

"No, with you… Mary Berry."

"Oh god, don't call me that. You know Beryl claims she can't really cook."

"We've had this debate before. And don't avoid the question."

She bit her lip, stared resolutely into her drink, swirling the lime around the glass, "Not yet," she finally said.

"Not _yet_ …" he smiled, "Well, I'm glad you're happy Mrs Hughes, it's about time."

"And I'm glad you're happy too," she held her glass over to his, "a toast to being happy."

"You do realise her parents hate me."

"Well, which parents wouldn't? You're clearly reckless, you fool around with cars on a weekend and your hair's always far too perfect to be trusted."

"I'm counting on you to talk me up, now you're part of the family."

"I am _not_ part of the family," she laughed, "and you'll be fine, give it time, they'll soon see how wonderful you are. I want you to meet her though, properly."

"We can arrange that, dinner, bring Charles. Will that be weird?"

"Absolutely. Charles sees her as a niece, and he's still…uncertain about you and I. God, what a tangled mess."

"Yeah, I kinda read that. Sybil doesn't know, you know, about you and I, other than us being friends."

" _Okay_. Should you tell her?"

"Probably."

"But you won't. You shouldn't have secrets." She said firmly, unsure where her strong opinion had suddenly come from.

"Yes mum! And it isn't a secret, it's just not – well, we don't need to tell each other of everyone we've slept with in the past."

"What if somebody else does?"

"Then I'll deal with that then."

She was going to respond but checked herself, took a drink instead. She didn't like people interfering with her life, she wasn't about to interfere with his. Not over this anyhow, she'd save that card for some other moment.

"So, the reason I called to meet is because I want to tell you something." Tom said, suddenly nervous. "And you give good advice – not judgemental advice."

"Oh?" She wondered if his claim was a warning rather than a truth. "Other than you being in love and moving in together?"

"Yes. One, I got offered a job, a good job… in Ireland."

"Oh my goodness, I'll miss you." She automatically reached for his hand again, squeezing it tightly, realising for a second how different his hand felt in hers compared to Charles'.

"I haven't taken it yet, still mulling it over. You see there's the other thing."

"Which is?"

"Sybil." He took a deep breath.

"Yes, you've just moved into this flat, haven't you? Is she going to want to uproot her entire life –,"

"– She's pregnant."

"Fuck! Tom!" She exclaimed, covering her mouth.

"I know, pretty insane."

"How the hell? Forget that, I know how, I just didn't… you've not been dating long. You know better than that."

"I know, I know, and believe me I've already beat myself up over this – no excuse. But then, you know, somehow, for some reason, as terrifying as it is…" he couldn't help but smile, "I love her Elsie, and the thought of having a baby with her, having our child." He shrugged, unable to hold in his joy and Elsie understood that the glow in his features was far more than just dating a nice girl and having great sex.

She squeezed his hand again, "You're going to be a father."

He nodded, feeling emotional, glad of this woman before him; he'd had no mother to rely on, no aunt, not even a sister to share thoughts with. They were the same in that respect, in a place without family; relying on her strength had become part of his life. "And it's only early on but I need you to know because I need to tell somebody, I can't keep it in my head."

"I understand that," she felt her eyes moisten and reached for her napkin, upsetting her cutlery as she moved, "I'm sorry, I don't why I feel emotional."

"I'm not used to seeing you cry, what's this man done to you?"

"You're the one who made me cry!" She smiled, wiping her face. "We're going out with his mother tomorrow."

"Wow, she's still alive?"

"Don't be bitchy, he's not that much older than me."

"I've missed our bitch sessions, who can we bitch about now?"

"I tell you who will be bitching – her father when he finds out you've impregnated his daughter."

"Probably cut my balls off, it's a bit mafia like isn't it, all this family stuff. That weekend, the Valentine's thing, the money is intense."

"I know. Charles hasn't really spoken about it, but it must be odd, your best friend being in such a different financial situation. I don't ask about it, I think I'm quite different to them, sometimes I wonder…"

"What?"

"What he sees in me. I'm nothing like the people in the circles he's used to mixing with. All this travel, all these rich families he's worked for."

"Maybe that's what he likes, what he wants."

"Maybe. Messy business isn't it, this dating stuff."

"I think we've both moved beyond dating."

She giggled, "Look at you, all grown up."

"I am 36, it's about time."

"God yes, what's my excuse." She took a long drink, the gin playing wonderfully with her senses, she'd limit herself to one more or Charles would arrive to find her asleep on the sofa and his steak still in the fridge. "Do you ever feel you've left it too long? Sometimes I think I left it all too late."

"Never too late, Elsie-May."

She bit her lip, sat back in her chair watching him as their lunch arrived. How odd life was – nobody ever called her Elsie-May, not since she was a child, not since her Gran.

A familiar sensation flittered through her chest; fear, failure. She didn't want to let Charles down like she had every other person in her life that she truly cared for. Yet the closer she got to him, the more she worried that would be the outcome.

* * *

 **Saturday 26** **th** **March**

When she wakes it's with a sense of mischief. Naked as she is, tucked up against his body; his broad, vast chest – like some barrel, but soft, warm; she feels it lift against her cheek and she thinks of his lungs expanding, his heart beating.

She counts. Each beat, each second.

This is becoming her norm, waking with him on a Saturday morning. It's three months and it's becoming normal to spend the weekends together. Friday night at either one's house; dinner, a movie, or the theatre or a pub and some music, whatever, it doesn't really matter. Dating is no longer viewed as just 'dating', as stand alone events, it's one long experience that all merges into one and, presently, it's glorious.

She realises that at some point there'll be a bump in the road, inevitably, two people can't co-exist in harmony, it isn't realistic. But now, right now, it's pretty bloody good.

There's a shaft of sunlight coming through the curtains and falling across the white doors of her wardrobes, a sense of a Saturday ready to unfold before them. All that freedom from work, from having to make decisions and sit at a desk and stick to times.

Instead she feel languorous, at ease, and that in itself is something of a revelation.

What better way to start the weekend than here, in her bed with him.

"Charles," she breathes across his chest, lifting her head slowly, peeling her skin where her cheek had been pressed against him. Turning her head, letting her mouth move across his skin, pressing her lips to the places where she'd heard his heart, felt his life.

"Mmm," his hand presses against the curve of her hip, "I'm sleeping."

"Wake up."

"It's still early."

She moves her body carefully, sliding on top of him, bringing her mouth to his ear, "I want to make love."

Despite his claims she hears him smile, the quick exhale of breath, "I'm beginning to understand why you're such a good businesswoman."

"Oh?" She licks the shell of his ear.

"You're demanding."

She giggles, moves back so she can see his face, brushing her hair out of her eyes, "I do like things to go my way."

He pats her bottom, "Luckily for you, I happen to find you fairly attractive."

"Oh? That is lucky."

She squeals in both shock and delight as he turns them over, his great, comforting bulk hovering over her body.

"That's not fair, you're stronger than I am."

"But not as quick." His eyes are wide now, awake, bright. "I take my chances."

"Right now, your chances are pretty good."

"I'm blessed." He kisses her neck, knows the places now, the ones where she'll moan or breathe a little deeper or push her body up to his. The way her breasts feel against his chest, how her hips tilt up to his, hands stretch over his back, palms wide, mouth open.

He likes the fact she says 'make love', that they can be slow now, take their time, enjoy each other.

It's getting better all the time.

* * *

Elsie drives, which worries Charles; where he's rigid and focused whilst at the wheel, she's chatty and laid-back.

He feels his legs stiffen as she accelerates, feet press against the soles of his shoes and the car mat beneath. In an attempt to calm himself, and stop him from gripping the seat, he curls his fingers into his palm.

"So, she just handed her notice in, there and then. It was a bit of a shock actually, and I'm not usually easily shocked, as you probably know."

"Elsie…"

"Mmm?"

"You won't drive so fast when mother's in the car, will you?"

She nips the inside of her bottom lip between her top and bottom teeth, "Are you insinuating I drive too fast?"

"Course not," he swallows, "just recklessly is all."

At that she laughs, remembering being reckless with him only a couple of hours earlier – he didn't seem to mind that.

"Rest assured, I will drive like Miss Daisy. Or like you, which is the same thing."

"I resent that," he says, head snapping round. "I'm not boring."

She can't help but snigger, "You're hardly 'loose' behind the wheel of the car sweetheart."

Her insinuation is overlooked, instead there's a smile on his face, "Sweetheart?"

"Do you prefer something more rugged?"

"Sweetheart's good." He can't help but reach over to touch her hand, just briefly, just because. "So what are you going to do about it?"

"Look for someone else I guess, advertise, but it's so difficult," she sighed, "finding a suitable replacement, someone who gets on with Anna and I, can learn quickly, be responsible, work without too much instruction."

"You mean you aren't barking orders at them every second of the day?"

"Ha! I'm not you."

"I haven't barked orders in a while, actually, I need to get back into it. Have felt no need to bark of late." 'Content' he thinks to himself, he's felt content, and happy. "Thomas has been doing more and more. I don't mind, it's rather nice to have more time to myself."

"More time to flirt with your waitress in that coffee shop."

"Please, I could be her father. I feel for her though, must be awfully difficult, awfully lonely."

"You're a sucker for a pretty face."

"Case in point."

"Yes well, what can I say to that? Have you seen that kid again, the boy?"

"Not for a while, think he's started at a school. Alfred. Alfie. Cute thing."

"You know his name, how quaint."

"It's mock Charles morning, isn't it?"

"I need to have my fun. Should I come in with you or wait in the car?"

"Wait in the car, she'll be in the foyer anyhow and will have been for almost an hour, tapping her cane, waiting. And don't let her order any gin with lunch."

"If that's what she wants…"

"No. Believe me. No gin. A glass of wine is fine, we'll get a bottle. And we need to find a table near the disabled loo so she doesn't have to walk far every twenty minutes."

"Goodness Charles, you do put a downer on events." She said, bringing the car to a halt.

"I apologise, I'm just being honest, realistic. It's the way things are."

"I'm beginning to think I should've grouted the tiles in my bathroom and let you come alone."

He feels slightly bad for that, and leans over to kiss her cheek, "I'm very happy you're here and willing to spend time with her, us."

"So am I. Now go, get her, I'm starving, used a lot of energy this morning."

"Minx." He leans back into the car before heading inside, "Oh, and I'm not a boring driver, just steady."

* * *

Charles picked the pub. It was very old and very quiet, tucked away on some random country road. He'd been there before with Margaret and experience had taught him it was safe to take her back to places she knew.

"I figured out that radio," Margaret said to Elsie, without even a _hello_ , as she got into the front seat – leaving Elsie wondering how on earth Charles was going to fold himself into the back.

"Oh?"

"Contraption. Almost gave up. I kept flicking that switch back and forth, back and forth, constant buzzing, interference from that infernal Sky dish they've got stuck on the side of the building no doubt. I blame Americans for that."

"For Sky?"

"Yes. That and Marathons."

It takes her a moment before she suddenly registers, "Snickers?"

"Never will be dear." She pats her stomach where the seatbelt stretches across it. "So, we're off?"

Elsie thinks it might be one of the more bizarre conversations she's had when greeting somebody, but she checks Charles is safely in the back seat – bottom on the seat behind his mother, legs stretched across to the space behind Elsie's seat – and puts the car into gear.

"So, which radio are we talking about?"

"The one you gave me for my birthday of course. I didn't say anything at the time but I didn't really want one, you know, I did wonder why you'd bought it for me."

"I bought it for you mum, not Elsie." Charles says from the back seat.

"Same thing."

He thinks about how he didn't even know Elsie then, let alone buy joint presents with her.

"But it's working," Elsie quickly says.

"Yes. I said so. Listened to that man yesterday, Irish, funny voice, 'erms' a lot."

"Graham Norton," Charles suggests.

"Yes and him. Used to have Wogan on all the time, lovely man, voice like velvet. Such a shame."

"It is a shame," Elsie said softly, "I used to like his show too."

"Such a wit, I always pride wit Ellie, any monkey can crack a joke, true wit takes considerably longer to hone."

"Turn left," Charles instructs.

Elsie smiles, feeling a little like she could be in a sitcom right now.

Margaret goes quiet as they head further into the country, taking in the view, and Elsie switches on Radio 2, keeping the volume low but enough to fill the silence as she drives. She can see Charles in her rearview mirror, the same posture as his mother as he watches the fields pass by. How similar they are, she thinks, in both manner and voice. He might not like to hear it but she thinks his stubborn views might be a direct copy of his mother.

"Here we are," she announces as they arrive at the pub and parks as close to the door as she can.

"Charlie," Margaret says, suddenly looking concerned at Elsie. Her eyes wide, face pale.

Charles slips his hand from the back onto his mother's shoulder, "Right here mum, I'll come and get you out of the car, shall I?"

Elsie follows them into the pub, finding it both amusing and yet endearing how Margaret's handbag hangs from Charles' shoulder. They go to the same table he always reserves, and Margaret sits by the window, she finds the light helps when reading the menu.

"I want beef," she proclaims as the waiter seats them.

"Well, that may be," Charles says, taking off his coat, "but let Elsie and I look first hey."

Margaret notes Elsie again and, after a second or two, smiles, "Elsie, not the launderette Elsie. You should have beef too, they roast it well, melt in the mouth."

"I may just do that, good Yorkshire puds?"

"The best."

Elsie smiles, taking a seat next to Charles, across from Margaret.

"When I was a girl we used to go out to the fruit man, do you remember that Charles?"

"I wasn't born, mother," he says without looking up from his menu.

"He brought his cart up the street, I lived on Nelson street and the fruit man came with his cart."

Elsie folded her hands beneath her chin, listening patiently, "Yes?"

"He would bring rabbits, you know, skin them for you, 1 and sixpence for a rabbit. You ever had a rabbit?"

"Not since I was a girl in Scotland, we had them all the time on the farm, I used to help Dad skin them."

Now Charles looked up, "You did?"

"Of course, I wouldn't do it now of course. But back then, it was normal, part of the routine."

He's both looked impressed and faintly disgusted at the thought.

"Ma would make rabbit pie," Margaret continued. "The man who ran it, what was his name…?" She clicked her fingers repeatedly, "Sam, no Ben, Mr Benn. Older man, in his forties when he married our Hilda. She was a beauty Hilda, wasn't she Charles?"

"She was." He signalled to the waiter, ordered three beef dinners and a bottle of red wine.

"Everyone told her not to. You see Ellie."

"Elsie," Charles corrected but Elsie shot him a look; it didn't matter really.

"Hilda worked up at big house, for Mrs Grantham, cleaning and the like, just a maid really. One morning she's scrubbing the kitchen floor, early hours, and it used to have that flooring down… you know, was popular for a while. Charlie?"

"Like a lino thing?"

"Yes, on top of the floor beneath. Anyway it'd curled up, you know." She rolled her hand, showing Elsie what she meant. "And what did she find beneath?"

"I'm thinking money?" Elsie said.

The wine came and Charles set about pouring, a small glass for his mum and Elsie, a large one for himself.

"£500, do you know how much that was in those days?"

"Well, thousands now, I should think."

"Exactly. That for me Charlie?" Margaret said, taking the larger glass of wine. "Hilda takes herself off to see Mrs Grantham, gave her the money, told her the scenario, you know. And from then on she wasn't a maid anymore, she was a companion. Took her everywhere. Well, our Hilda was beautiful, wasn't she Charlie?"

"She was."

"And young. All these men, Doctors and the like, middle class types, after her, wanting to court her. What does she do? Fall for the fruit man, we all warned her not to marry him. Miserable old bastard too."

"Mother!" Charles snapped and Elsie laughed.

"Well he was, wanted his dinner on the table when he got in, didn't want anyone in the house when he was there, you didn't even get the offer of a cup of tea."

"Which is the measure of every good English household." Elsie smiled. "What a wonderful story though."

"Clear as day that, yet ask me what I did yesterday and it just…" She put her hand to her head. "Nothing there."

"I think you remember the best bits," Elsie said gently.

"You skinned rabbits then?" Charles said, nudging her elbow on the table.

"I did." She turned her head to smile at him.

"He's smitten," Margaret delared, "Look at his smile."

"Mum."

"In his eyes too. Looks like he did as a boy, always running round, grinning, carrying his fishing rod about."

"Ah, so you were a fisherman?" Elsie asked.

"I caught tadpoles and trapped them in jars, hardly Robson Greene."

"You like that show, you mentioned it before." Elsie said, just as the waiter arrived with their plates.

"I'll need more gravy than that," Margaret proclaimed.

"Not a problem," the young man said. "I'll bring out a jug."

"There always tight with the gravy," Margaret declared, picking up her Yorkshire pudding and biting into it.

"Mother, hands. Use the cutlery." Charles got up from his seat and helped spread Margaret's napkin in her lap.

"Elsie doesn't mind, do you love?"

"Not at all, you enjoy it." She took a sip of her wine, watched curiously as Charles arranged the napkin then cut up his Margaret's beef, checked his mother was settled before seating himself and starting on his own lunch.

After dinner Margaret was quieter, as if exhausted by the effort of eating.

They spoke of the upcoming EU referendum, debated arguments, and Margaret was quiet throughout, listening attentively but not commenting, not entirely following.

It was quite clear to Elsie that Charles was Conservative through and through – she was decidedly not. She was Scottish after all. It wasn't part of her heritage. But she let it lie at the moment, as did he, such were the tentative steps they were taking, working their way through this.

And there was such simple joy in being together. Such truth in it.

So, they discussed. She found him interesting, knowledgeable, perhaps one of the most intelligent people she'd ever met. He found her honest, refreshingly so, black and white, fair.

After their plates were cleared and they'd shared a pot of tea, Margaret's head started to tip forward, her posture slumping.

"Well, I guess we ought to get you back then," Charles said, pushing his chair back from the table. "You look like you'll be asleep any minute. I'll go settle the bill."

Elsie noted the slightly resigned look on Margaret's face; the dread of going back to the home perhaps, of another afternoon dozing in the same chair in the same room with the faded floral curtains and that smell – a curious mixture of medicine and stewing veg.

"Why don't you come back with us?" She suggested, then felt Charles stiffen beside her. She looked up at him, wide eyed, lips parted. "That'd be okay? It's horrid weather out, we could play cards, have some dessert later."

"Mother will nap…" he started.

"She can nap on the sofa," she got to her feet, dropped the napkin to the table and lowered her voice, "can't she?"

He gazed at her for a moment, then gave a slight tip of his chin, "As well as anywhere."

"Wonderful," Elsie smiled, turning to Margaret. "Settled, we can play some games."

"Dominoes?" Margaret suggested, her voice suspicious.

"If you like. Shall we use the ladies, before we drive back?" Elsie held out her hand, "Come with me?"

Margaret stared at her for a few moments before putting a wobbly hand onto the table and another into Elsie's outstretched one and slowly got to her feet, pulling heavily on Elsie's arm.

"We'll meet you by the door." She said to Charles, and he stood, and nodded, because she'd taken control and he wasn't quite sure what to do about that.

* * *

"So, I feel a little awkward," Charles said, sitting at Elsie's kitchen table and watching her make a pot of coffee.

"Why?"

"Well, for one thing, my mother is sleeping on your sofa, snoring her head off." He laughed.

"That's not awkward."

"It's a tad awkward. To me."

"Charles, you can be so stuffy. Do you want milk or cream?"

"Cream, but I'll have milk, better for my heart," he said, turning over the magazine on her table.

"You're thinking about your heart?" She teased, glancing over her shoulder at him.

He raised his eyebrows, shook his head, "And the other awkward thing…"

"Go on, you forgot to pack your pyjamas for staying tonight?" She carried the coffee over to the table.

"Is it just me you like to tease or does everybody get the same treatment?"

She leant over and kissed him, pressing heavily on his shoulder, "You're definitely special."

"You see, that's sarcasm."

"Perhaps," she giggled, "you want some chocolate cake?"

"Of course. We didn't have dessert at the pub – and yes, I realise this makes a mockery of me not having cream."

"I won't judge."

"Did you make the cake?"

"Hardly, Beryl did, she brought it over the other day for our weekly girly catch up." She cut two slices and sat with him. "So, the other awkward thing?"

"What did you discuss in a weekly girly catch up?"

"Sex." His eyes widened and she laughed, "I'm joking. Just stuff, woman stuff. Stop hesitating."

He huffed, "I'm meant to ask about Tom…and Sybil?"

She frowned, "Oh, and what are you _meant_ to be asking about?"

"What you know, I guess." He pushed his plate away, feeling his stomach tighten.

"Are you on an errand?"

"No," he said quickly, toying with his fork. "A request, not an errand."

"I can guess who from; I'm not a gossip Charles." She felt both annoyed that he'd asked and also guilty – because she did know things, she knew of the pregnancy, of the possible move and she couldn't, wouldn't, share those things with him. It wasn't her place to do so. And for some reason holding something back from him made her chest feel tight.

"That's not what I'm asking for."

"Don't make things strange."

"How is it strange?"

"Because he's my friend, and he's in love, if you want to know, _need_ to know."

"They've moved in together."

"I know."

"And?"

"And what? Charles, they're adults, whether her parents want to face that fact or not. They do what they want."

"They've known each other a few months."

"And so have we, does that make our relationship any less valuable?"

He felt his throat constrict, his heartbeat double in speed, "We aren't planning to live together."

"No. We aren't. We run at a slightly slower pace to young lovers." She got to her feet, carried their pots to the sink, "I won't condemn them for doing what they want, Charles, nor judge them, they're young, they're in love, let them live their life."

He turned in his chair, his long legs sticking out into the kitchen, "I'm sorry I've ruined the mood of the day."

"You haven't," she let out a deep breath, scrunching her hands into fists and then uncurling them again. "I realise you find my friendship with Tom… odd. But we aren't… I'm not uncomfortable with him dating Sybil, clearly you're still uncomfortable with him being my friend."

"How can I not be, try as I might? He knows you, he's shared your bed."

She glanced to her feet, away from his gaze, "It isn't a threat to us, it means nothing in relation to us… and where I suspect we're going."

At that he felt light headed, his heart fluttering somewhere in his chest, "We're going somewhere…?"

"Shall we set up the domiones?"

He caught hold of her wrist as she passed him, "Elsie…"

"Don't do that now, it isn't time." She whispered, without looking at him. "Make a pot of tea for your mother, I'll find out the dominoes, wake her."

Elsie had lit the fire when they'd gotten home, and it crackled now in the late afternoon, with the rain falling outside and a grey Saturday afternoon bringing shades of lilac into the lounge.

She knelt on the floor by the hearth, watching Margaret sleep, lining up the dominoes across the table.

"Your daffodils are growing in the garden," Charles said, standing by the door.

"It's been a fairly mild winter."

"It has." He looked to his mother, feeling Elsie watching him – things felt odd now and he was sorry for it; she'd been so good to him today, so good to his mother.

"She talks in her sleep," Elsie said, sitting back, closer to the warmth of the fire. "Like you."

He nodded, his hands hidden in his pockets.

"Come sit with me. It's gone cold."

For the briefest of seconds he wished he was alone with her.

"Best wake her, I'll go make the tea – it'll soften the blow."

She chewed on her lip, hugged her arms around her knees, "Alright."

Margaret grumbled, turned on the sofa and Elsie got up from her spot by the fire, kneeling instead at the side of the older woman and taking her hands, rubbing them very softly.

"Margaret?" She said gently, "Time to wake up I'm afraid."

"I don't know where I am," her voice was shallow, panicked. She made to sit up but her body failed her and she fell back against the cushions. "I don't know where I am."

"You're at my house, Elsie's house, remember, with Charles? We had dinner. You told me about your sister and the fruit man."

"Yes," she licked her lips, "yes…"

"Mum, are you alright?" Charles put the tray down on the coffee table and her head jerked towards him.

"Charlie," she said urgently, a hand leaving Elsie's and reaching towards him. "I need to go back home."

"And I'll take you, later."

"No now."

He bent beside her, touched her head, "You wanted to play dominoes with us, with Elsie and I, didn't you mum?"

She held his gaze for a long time, searching his calm eyes, comforting in his tender voice, the memory of her husband in it.

Finally she nodded, moved to sit again and this time he helped her, piled pillows behind her.

"Two sugars in my tea."

"I know."

The moment of disorientation had passed, the stricken expression gone and Elsie realised what she was part of now, or becoming part of.

She took her tea from Charles, touched his fingers very briefly with hers, and stretched her legs out, sticking her feet towards the fire.

"I like your nails, dear." Margaret said.

Elsie wiggled her toes, "Do them myself too," she smiled. "Would you like me to do yours?"

Margaret smirked, "I can't have that!"

"Why ever not?" Elsie asked, "Go on, put the others ladies to shame."

"My feet are a state, I wouldn't inflict that upon you."

"Oh I have no airs and graces, come on. Which colour would you like, the same one I have?"

Margaret nodded.

For the next thirty odd minutes Charles sat across from them, on the sofa where he and Elsie had lain before, many times before, cuddled together watching television, where he'd removed her bra and drifted to some other heaven with her nipple in his mouth listening to her moan her pleasure.

Now he was still, silent, watching as his girlfriend painted his mother's toes a bright shade of red.

It was odd to him, watching these two women, to reflect upon their individual strength. They were different, _very_ different. And women had been a mystery to him for so many years – as were most aspects of human relationships. It seemed he'd spent his entire life skimming the surface of them and now he was daring to delve beneath, because she'd let him? Because she'd opened the door? Her hints that this meant more, that it would become more than what it was now… he felt confused by it all.

Afraid. And unwilling to admit that.

Like some vast void was opening in his chest, and blackness was crawling out. This wasn't how he'd expected to feel, almost unsteady, uncertain about it all. Waiting for the fall.

He listened to them laugh, gossip about Corrie and his mother share her recipe for the best flapjack. He liked it best with hazelnuts in; he'd have to tell Elsie that.

She looked across to him at one point, her eyes bright and happy, and smiled at him in such a way as if she knew exactly what he was feeling. As if trying to drag him back to them, from this fear that had suddenly worked its way into his system.

* * *

He drove his mother home in the rain, when it was dark and he was tired and he wasn't sure if he'd arranged with Elsie that he'd go back to hers or not.

Margaret was barely awake beside him, her head lolling from left to right against the headrest. He almost carried her inside, helped her change, made her a hot water bottle, and sat her in bed, got her water and watched her take her pills.

He held her hand as she drank, perched on the small white chair she kept by the bed; he a giant in the room. The scar on her thumb familiar to him where she'd cut it with the Stanley knife when he was seven and she fitted his bedroom carpet by herself one summer afternoon and his father had scolded her when he'd come home from work to find her hand bandaged.

Charles had felt guilty for a long time over that.

"Love you," he said as she laid back to sleep, and he meant it. Sometimes, when she wasn't the woman he remembered from his childhood, he could only remember how it felt to love her, and he hated himself for that too.

Soon she'd be gone, and then he'd remember what she looked like, how she spoke, or held her self. Or the fragrance of her skin, the delicate crispness of her hand as it lay in his.

He was sorry he'd never made her a Grandmother.

* * *

Melcancholy filled his chest as he drove home and he wasn't sure why. Like he wasn't physically present, not himself, but floating above his body somewhere, observing actions.

Still. Halfway into the drive he realised he was heading back to Elsie's.

When he got there he found the door unlocked, it was dark apart from the dimmed spotlights in the kitchen, his coat was wet and he hung it on the coat hook to the left of the door, the one on the end that she always seemed to leave empty for him now.

How she'd made space for him in her life; shifted up in the bed a little, opened her arms, welcomed him. He wondered if that was what unnerved him now, realising this was real, it was going somewhere and he couldn't just walk out when the job finished and he'd fly to another country.

Months before he'd stood in this very same hallway, cold from the winter frost, and practically begged her to give him a chance. And she hadn't fought it, how he'd expected her to, once it had started she'd been all in.

In the lounge the fire still crackled, though diminished by time, and the orangey light shone on her face as she lay on the sofa he'd sat upon earlier in the afternoon.

"Hi," she whispered.

"Hi."

"Still raining," she noted the wet in his hair, glistening like silver in the shaded light. "Was she alright?"

"Tired, went straight to sleep. It seems you sleep most of the day away when you get to a certain age."

"I could do that now."

He smiled, shifted his feet, pondered taking his shoes off and going into her.

"You're in a strange mood today."

"Sorry."

She sat up a little, pulled the blanket over her legs, "Don't be sorry, just don't close off."

"It's how I am."

"I think I understand that… But it isn't to do with Tom and Sybil is it? I'm not being difficult or anything with it…"

He waved it off, "No, not that."

"What then? Have you changed your mind?"

"On?"

"Us? Me?"

He shook his head, listened to the uncomfortable thud of his own blood in his ear.

"Are you staying?"

He nodded this time, toed off his damp shoes and went into her. She shifted, made room for him, bid him to lie down with her, squashed up together and for a long time they held each other until the room was in virtual darkness and the fire almost spent.

"What happened?" She finally whispered against his chest, the buttons of his shirt firm against her skin.

"I'm not quite sure, perhaps seeing you with her, realising the time I've wasted, realising that this is important, you are."

She let her hand drag heavily down his arm, squeezed his elbow, "How have you wasted time?"

"Denying myself all these years, avoiding relationships, always moving. I just felt odd… I feel odd."

"Would it help to know I feel the same?"

"Yes," he smiled, held her tighter.

"Of course. We're too old for this to be some game, Charles, and I care for you so much already. So of course I'm nervous, I can be so bossy and independent – I've always taken care of myself. I don't want to isolate you. I'm scared to death of our real first argument coming about."

He pressed his palm against her back, felt the clasp of her bra through her jumper, "Me too. I don't want to mess this up."

"We'll just take our time, and talk," she lifted her face to his, "you must talk to me. Don't dwell or muse," she gave him a small smile, "ruminate on things until they cause issues."

He raised his eyebrows, "What makes you think I do that?"

Her hand slid further down his arm, finding his hand and wrapping hers around it. "I'm sorry if you thought I was pushy with your mother."

"Not at all. It was nice to see you with her, how good you are with her. Just unsettling too. I think you would have gotten on, had we met when we were younger and…"

"Don't do that." She folded her fingers with his, pressed her mouth to his until he felt the breath leave his body and he wanted her so badly.

She took him to bed. Sat on the edge of the mattress and watched him undress. A normal body for a man his age, not the usual gym-honed appearance she'd have gone for. Trying her best to hold onto her youth, or avoiding facing up to reality through superficial arrangements with men she didn't really care about, with whom it wasn't that deep.

And here he was. Changing it all.

She liked how he hung his shirt, that he knew where there'd be spare hangers in the wardrobe. That he could take his time and it was all so very natural.

When he stood before her, his hands on her shoulders, mouth kissing her head, she placed her hands on his chest, watched her own fingers trace over his skin – uneven textures, uneven shades, the greying hairs.

She leant forward, kissing him, let his hands work on the buttons of her shirt and undress her until she was topless.

"You're going to have to move," he said lightly and she smiled up at him, rising slowly, her long skirt curling around her ankles.

"Hello…" he said reverently, his hands on her face, thumbs smoothing her skin, "…beautiful."

"Hello."

They kissed slowly, hands on each other's bare backs, her breasts pressed against his chest, holding each other until they couldn't be any closer.

In time her hand crept down to the material of his briefs, the thick warmth of his erection – solid silk – filling her hand, and he moaned, his pleasure filling her heart.

She gasped when he lifted her up, gripping her bottom through her skirt.

Who would have imagined that stoic man who seemed so uncomfortable in social situations would have such passion, she just had to tap into it? And she was under no illusions, this was all for her; not just about sex, not just lust or getting laid. It was all her drawing this from somewhere deep inside him.

He lay her back on top of the mattress, his mouth worshipping every inch of exposed skin – pale gloriousness. A tongue on her nipples until her hips pushed up, forward, arms stretched out above her head and he shifted down to her belly.

So many things in his mind he wanted to whisper, but none of it really mattered, none of it bore weight when compared to how this felt. Eager hands, his and hers, pushing up her skirt, simultaneously pushing down her knickers.

Meeting between her thighs, frantic in that moment, with the heavy material of her skirt bunched between them and him naked on her. She'd never expected it… never expected he would turn her on so much, or change the way she viewed sex. And then stillness, eternity.

"Oh god," he breathed into her hair, kissed her forehead, down to her mouth, lips meeting lips.

Legs rising, wrapping around him, hips grinding into sweetness, spinning gold.

There was some antidote to loneliness, to guilt, emptiness, fear, inside her body. Something eternally human that he found within her to make himself a whole person. Knot after knot of unspun silk coming together, seamless.

Outside the rain fell, it was almost April and spring was on its way.

* * *

She lay with her head on his stomach, her chest flushed, his hand on her breast still, his breathing deep beneath her cheek.

"I think I could stay here forever," he whispered and she nodded, closed her eyes, listened to the rain.

He knew most of her freckles now. Knew the patterns on her arms, how there was a spot on the inside of her arm, just below her elbow, where three identically sized freckles stood one after the other, equally spaced. He'd tiptoed his little finger down them before, had kissed where the largest of her freckles stood right beside the three.

She was his lover. Friend. Confidante now it seemed too. Lifeline. Earlier that day she'd been a comfort to his mother, a younger woman to an older one, passing down recipes and painting nails like women did. Forming bonds. It had scared him, it meant opening his life to another in a way like he never had before.

But they were building something.

It wasn't love yet. But it was damned close.


	13. Chapter 13

_Lots here as we cover a month in their relationship. And some Richobel just because I love them and am still disappointed that never happened._

 _Thank you for all the lovely messages, I really enjoy talking to you about the story and the reviews DO give me incentive to keep pressing on._

* * *

 **Chapter 13**

 **Wednesday 30** **th** **March**

Charles glanced at his watch for the third time in as many minutes, took a sip of his coffee and pushed his folded newspaper across the table.

The café was quiet, only a handful of people sat around, some chatting, others alone passing the time of day.

He saw Elsie pull into the car park through the window beside him, felt his pulse quicken as he watched her park and sat straighter in his chair. She was flustered as she rushed in, a large handbag over one shoulder, a smart beige dress, a blue jacket, hair up.

"Hello sweetheart," she said as she got to his table, simultaneously dropping her over-sized bag to the floor and leaning in to kiss his cheek. "Sorry I'm late, my meeting overran."

His hand automatically moved to touch her back, he returned the kiss, "It's alright, it's fine."

"I'm starving, have you eaten?"

"Yes; it's way after two-thirty, you've had no food?"

"Porridge for breakfast." She got her purse from her bag, "You want another drink?"

"Go on, push the boat out, I'll have another cappuccino."

He watched her at the counter, her smile as she interacted with the server, her walk in the heels as she headed back to him, carrying a tray with two large coffees.

"Here we go."

"Thanks."

"So, have we reached the point where a weekend together isn't enough?"

He smiled, that was absolutely true, a weekend perhaps wasn't enough, "Is there something odd about meeting your girlfriend for a coffee mid-week?"

She settled in her seat across from him, "I still like that you say ' _girl_ friend', it boosts my confidence."

"Sitting here with you looking that good boosts mine."

She allowed him the sentiment, even felt herself blush at it. "So, this is your café?"

"It is."

"And where's your girl?" She gazed around, "which one is it?"

He reached across and squeezed her hand, laughing at her teasing, "In the back I think."

"And why the frantic call earlier today? This desperate need to see me and my fine ass?"

He shook his head, "I think I've just about got you figured out and then you baffle me again with some random comment."

"A woman should never be entirely figured out; men are much simpler."

"I'd agree with you on that. How was your meeting at the bank?"

"Productive, busy," She emptied a sugar into her drink, leaning forward and whispering, "kinda scary."

"Never. Not for you."

She shrugged, "Even I get scared sometimes."

"A tiny amount," he indicated with his thumb and forefinger.

"A smidgen," she agreed, her smile broad, one of her hands still folded with his.

Elsie glanced up as a waitress approached their table and Charles took his hand back, "Hi," he said, and something about his tone made Elsie pay more attention to the girl.

"Hello, I've got a chicken salad on brown?"

"Thank you dear, that's mine."

"This is Ethel," Charles said, feeling almost nervous.

"Oh, so this is your friend?" she held her hand out and Ethel shook it. "He told me about you."

"She makes it sound weird," he said quickly and, luckily, Ethel laughed. "So this is Elsie, my, erm, girlfriend."

"Look how confident he is about saying that."

"Very nice to meet you, he is here a lot and he leaves good tips." Ethel said, her voice friendly, "I appreciate that."

Elsie gasped, "My God, he does? I've never seen him do that."

"Ignore her."

"Thanks very much!" Elsie spread her napkin onto her lap. "Is your son at school?"

"A-ha, he'll be here around 3," she rolled her eyes and for the first time Elsie noted how tired the girl looked, "nightmare. Don't mention it to my boss, luckily she's not in today."

"He'll hang around now," Elsie said, indicating Charles, "just to see him."

Ethel smiled, taking Charles' empty cup, "He likes you too. Thinks you're a giant, asked his Grandma the other week if you could be related to Hagrid."

"Who?"

"Goodness Charles, you're going to have to read children's literature." Elsie spread her napkin in her lap. "Very nice to meet you, Ethel."

"And you. I best get back to it."

Elsie bit into her sandwich and sighed audibly, "That's so good, I didn't realise I was so hungry."

"You rush about too much," he stirred his cappuccino, took the foam from the top with his spoon. "So, I actually wanted to see you because I got a call this morning _annnnd_ … I need to go away tomorrow."

"Oh? Where you off to?"

"Bath, I need to oversee a job, and I know the family, they requested I be there."

"You're dusting off your livery then?"

"Something like that."

"When you home, are we still going walking on Sunday?"

"Actually, it'll be a couple of weeks."

She wasn't sure if her breath caught or if she swallowed the piece of sandwich awkwardly, "That long?"

He nodded, curled his hand around his cup, felt the heat against his palm, "You'll be able to do all the things you haven't been able to with me here."

In the past she would have snapped at that, made some offhand comment about still being independent and always doing what she wanted – but the truth was, he was right, her life had altered since she'd started dating him. Weekends were built around the two of them now, not around her friends or the events she wanted to attend or going to the gym or having cocktails.

Just them.

She pushed her plate away, "I guess I can."

"Don't go on any dates…" He said over the top of his cup.

Elsie smiled, "I'll try not to."

His eyes seemed to shine, and her free hand reached back across the table, fingers toying with the cuff of his shirt.

A delighted yell of "Mr Carson," interrupted their solitude and a gangly lad raced across the café towards Charles' favourite table by the window.

"Alfie. Nice to see you."

The boy clambered onto the seat beside Charles, his book bag dangling over one arm and battering the side of the table, a Transformers sandwich box was hoisted onto the table and a painting pushed in front of Charles.

"I did some art today."

"So I see."

"Look. Look."

"Let me get my glasses."

Elsie sat back, arms folded, observing the interplay between the two. It was odd to see Charles with a child, he softened – just slightly – bent his body forward to be smaller for the boy, his voice warmed at the edges the way it did when they were alone and he was whispering to her.

"Oh so I see, a dragon."

"A dragon race, see, this one is winning."

"So I see," Charles slipped his glasses off, "Alfie this is my friend, Elsie."

The boy seemed to notice her for the first time and he jumped down from his chair, dropping his book bag to the floor and standing ramrod straight beside her, sticking an arm out, "Good afternoon. My name is Alfie."

"Well, it's very nice to meet you Alfie," she shook his hand, "did Mr Carson teach you that?"

"He taughted me lots, I can make the tea now."

"An invaluable skill."

He twisted his mouth, noticing the remainder of her sandwich on the plate, eyes scrutinising as he contemplated how to get what he wanted.

"Are you hungry?" Charles asked, and the boy nodded, _he was always hungry!_ "Here," Charles handed across a £5 note, "go get yourself something from the counter, but check with your mum first."

Alfie scooted off, immediately grabbing a juice from the fridge and standing on his tiptoes to glance in to the cakes.

"You're a softie."

"Perhaps." He glanced up as Ethel had a conversation with Alfie and looked towards Charles. He waved his hand as she protested that he shouldn't, "It's fine, let him, it's in exchange for the picture." He winked at Alfie.

Elsie lifted his hand and kissed the back of it, "You're a real softie. Unfortunately, really unfortunately, I have to go."

"Oh."

"I'm sorry, I need to be back in the office for four, I'm expecting a call."

"Okay."

"Call me later?"

"Sure, I'm driving down about seven, when the motorway's quietened down a bit."

She reached for her bag, got to her feet, "Drive safe, won't you."

"I like you being concerned about me."

She moved to him, leaning down to kiss his cheek again, but he moved, pushed the table back and got to his feet so he could hold her. He met her mouth with his, hands reaching for her body, drawing her into the kiss.

He'd miss her. He wanted her to miss him too.

"What you doing?!" Alfie exclaimed, clambering into Elsie's empty seat.

"Nothing," Elsie smiled, "Nice to meet you Alfie, I have to get back to work."

The boy seemed unworried by this information as he chewed on his cookie, swinging his legs.

"Have a lovely afternoon the pair of you."

"We'll try, see you soon," Charles added lightly. "Two weeks without me."

"I know, time to sit around in my pyjamas and eat bags of crisps."

He chuckled, sat back down, watched her walk away and wave over her shoulder at him.

"Shall we play Snakes and Ladders?" Alfie asked, distracting him.

"Yes. Why not. Set it up."

* * *

 **Wednesday 13** **th** **April**

"Shame Charles is away," Richard said, refilling Elsie's wine glass. "Would've been nice to see him."

"For you and me both." She gratefully took the wine.

"Ah, withdrawal symptoms?" Isobel said, the beginnings of a grin on her face.

"Something like that. Feel a bit of a spare part actually, didn't realise it was going to be you and the Doc and me the gooseberry."

"Had to get you out of the house, pining for him."

"Oh, I am not! Stop taking the piss."

"Drink some more wine and you won't care. How's work? How's the search for a replacement going?" Isobel asked.

"Ur, I've hardly even started looking. So busy, you know…" she paused as Richard moved slightly, noted how his hand hovered on Izzy's back for a second or two before reaching for his glass of wine.

"Why so busy?" He asked, and Elsie appreciated the deep timbre of his voice, his fine, clipped accent; he reminded her of Charles.

"I'm expanding, or in the process of trying to. I'm buying three new properties at the moment."

"She's quite the entrepreneur you know," Isobel said proudly, "and rich."

"Oh, I am not."

"She's a saver," Isobel said.

"Well, nothing wrong with that." Richard noted.

"I'm comfortable," is all Elsie would admit, drinking her wine, pushing the reality of where her money mostly went to the back of her mind. "I like this restaurant, never been here before."

"One of Richard's favourites, isn't it darling?"

Elsie watched, detached, as their hands curled together, at the way they looked at each other, so easy, natural. It made her miss Charles all the more. Odd, she wasn't used to 'missing' somebody. They'd texted, spoken on the phone some nights, but he was busy in the evening – usually working. Besides, she didn't want to 'pester' him, and she wasn't used to that, balancing her need to speak with him with the need to maintain her own dignity. She remembered the start of all this, when Charles had been so desperate to see her, to make her realise that there was much more than just a sexual spark between them.

She'd always thought herself astute – clearly he was more so.

They were sweet together – Richard and Izzy – and she was glad her dear friend finally seemed to have found someone with whom to share her days. It had been so hard when Reggie had died. Isobel was always the 'together' one of the group, and she'd still tried to be, but it had knocked her for six losing her husband. For a long time she'd hardly left the house, became a kind of recluse. For weeks she'd not got out of bed, had told Elsie on more than one occasion she sometimes wished she could just sleep and not wake up.

Matthew had gotten her through. The way only children can. His youth, his hopes, his energy. She'd thrown herself into projects in the community, had fundraised for the local surgery where her husband had spent so many years of his life. And she'd done her best to raise awareness of cardiac issues, had raised funds to purchase defibrillators for local sports centres.

The old Isobel, Isobel the wife, was gone. But she wasn't just a 'widow' neither. She was a strong woman, a good one, and Elsie had watched her flourish over the years.

"So, tell us about these properties then Elsie, where are they? What are your plans?"

She took a long drink, the wine cool and refreshing, "Well, if I can get the sales through by the summer I can re-decorate to my standard before the new term starts but to be honest I'm not holding out much hope. I might not get them until October time, then it'll be next summer before I get my hands on them really. Ideally I need to make money straight away."

"I guess it doesn't help, only having Anna." Izzy said.

"Not really, I don't want to overwork her neither, she's in a new relationship… we all seem to be."

Richard laughed, "Must be the year for it."

"Do you know how wonderful it is to finally hear you say the word 'relationship'?" Isobel said, munching on a breadstick.

"Don't pick on me, I'm tired."

"I'm not picking… it's a good thing."

She smiled, sipping her wine again, "It is."

"Charles is a good guy," Richard acknowledged. "I've known him on and off over the years. He seems to be back and forth with work."

"He told me, he's travelled so much."

"Well-spoken too, but nice guy, quiet, keeps to himself, but nice."

Elsie smiled to herself, thinking of him, imagining where he was, what he was doing.

Automatically, she reached for her bag, her hand dipping inside and finding her phone. She tapped away whilst the couple across from her were distracted.

' _Hi! Hope your day went well – I'm having dinner with Izzy & Richard, wish you were here too xxx'_

"Are you coming to Robert and Cora's dinner?" Isobel asked.

"Yes, I think so, Charles did mention it and I think he'll be back by then."

"You been to one before?" Richard asked and Elsie shook her head.

"Why?"

Richard sucked in a tight breath, "Quite the occasion, their dinners."

"Oh don't tease her, it'll be fine, you're with him, it'll be fine."

* * *

Charles was grateful of an evening off, even if it was just a few hours, it was better than how things had been of late. Finishing, after eleven, in bed by one. He wasn't a young man anymore and the work was beginning to catch up with him.

There was a small group of them in the hotel bar area, usually Charles would have avoided this kind of thing and happily had a long bath and read his book instead. But they were a nice bunch and besides, part of him wondered just how much longer he'd be part of this; spending time with younger people, listening to their conversations, watching their interactions.

"Mind if I join you?"

He looked up to the tall woman beside him, she was carrying two brandies and he folded his paper as he got to his feet.

"Cause not," he kissed her cheek, "nice to see you, Melanie."

"I wondered if we'd get a chance to speak, been years." She put the drinks down on the small table between their chairs. "How've you been?"

"Fine, pretty much the same I guess. Taking things a bit more leisurely these days perhaps."

"I noticed I've not seen you around as much, letting Thomas take the reins?"

"Something like that. And how are you? Thanks for this by the way, good choice."

"I've attended enough of these to know what's good."

Melanie was an events planner, and Charles had known her for years, their paths crossed occasionally, they attended the same event or were in the same area. She was nice enough, smart, good at her job. He respected her; he knew it wasn't easy having to travel so much with children at home and he respected that she'd managed to balance motherhood with her career.

"How are your children?"

"God my kids are grown now, one at University, the other two years into a job. They're doing well. It hit them hard when Frank and I divorced you know, but they bounced back, just wasn't great timing – Lucy's exam year."

"Do you still see Frank?"

"Not much. Only for the kids. And no, before you ask I'm not married. Or dating."

He smiled, feeling a little uncomfortable, which was ridiculous because they'd been acquaintances for a long time. He sipped his brandy, surreptitiously glancing at his watch.

When his phone beeped he was grateful for the momentary distraction; he would usually ignore it, it was impolite after all when with company, however, he couldn't feel any more awkward about the entire thing.

He glanced at the message, seeing Elsie's name and the kisses at the end. Smiling he opened the text and slowly typed his reply.

' _Wish I was there too beautiful, I actually have an evening off so just having a drink in the lounge and reading the paper before bed. The bed is not as comfy at yours. X'_

"Somebody important?" Melanie asked.

"Yes," he closed the phone, "very important."

She tilted her head to one side, sucking on the straw in her cocktail, "A girlfriend?"

He smiled, "Yes," then nodded, "yes she is. Sorry, feels odd to say that."

"Why?"

"Just not used to it. I'm used to the odd date, to things fizzling out… and I have no idea why I'm telling you this."

"It's fine, we've known each other a long time, we're like work family. You got a picture?"

"Of course… does it make me obsessive to show you?"

"No because I asked."

She leant forward, unfolding her legs as she did so and peering at his phone as he whizzed through snaps.

"That's the two of us together at this fancy weekend thing we went to and… there you go; there she is on her own."

"She's very pretty."

"She is," he said, feeling proud. "We only met in December but, well, it seems longer."

"That's nice, you really like her, your tone changed when you spoke of her."

"Did it," he coughed, flustered, he wasn't one for sharing sentiments publically.

"It's a shame, actually."

"Oh…" he took a gulp of brandy, "why?"

"I was going to give you my number. Now I'm divorced, no reason not to."

He downed the rest of the brandy.

* * *

 **Friday 15** **th** **April**

Elsie's hand automatically flew out when her phone bleeped, finding the familiar shape of it in the dark room, flicking her fingers over the screen until his message shone: _'Driving home early – breakfast tomorrow? xx.'_

Smiling she pulled herself into a sitting position and quickly pressed the dial key, "Hello?" He said, his voice thick over the car phone.

"Hello. I can't wait until tomorrow."

She heard him chuckle, "Well, we can't have breakfast now."

She flopped down onto her back, "Who said anything about breakfast? I want to snuggle. I've had two Friday nights on my own."

He laughed louder at her incredulous tone, "I do apologise my dear, sorry to let you down."

"So you should be, I have expectations now."

"Are you inviting me over?"

"I am indeed. Take the not so subtle hint."

Thirty-five minutes later she's pulling on her dressing gown and heading downstairs as his car lights illuminate the bedroom and he pulls onto the drive. She unbolts the door and stands with it slightly ajar, feeling something like a giddy child receiving a long-awaited gift; this is silly, how she feels, how her heart has tensed at the sound of the car door shutting and his footsteps on the path.

His smile is warm, glorious, and for some odd reason he seems so much taller than she recalls.

"A greeting at the door, this is quite something."

"Hurry up, it's freezing."

"Sorry," he shakes his head, chuckling at her as he closes the door behind him and then she's in his arms, sliding her hands around his waist, pressing her warm body against his.

"Hello," she smiles sweetly, lifting herself on her tiptoes to kiss him.

"Hello," he whispers after kissing her once, twice, brushing her nose with his, stroking a hand over her hair. "You're all soft and warm."

"Am I?" She kissed him again, "You've got wet in your hair."

"It's just drizzling," he rubbed a hand through his hair, displacing the water droplets there.

She loosened his tie, "So what made you come home early – I thought it was Sunday?"

"What do you think?"

She smiled, slid his tie off, "Come on, let's go to bed."

"You're very forward Ms Hughes."

"Or decisive." She pulled away from him, heading up the stairs, turning to glance over her shoulder, "And it is very late and I was half asleep."

"Oh well," he waggled his eyebrows, slipping his jacket off, hanging it in the usual spot.

"Don't give me that look, Charlie."

"What look?"

"That flirty, flirty look."

His shoes are off, "I wouldn't know 'flirty flirty' if it beat me about the head."

"Oh yes, sure you wouldn't." She deliberately swished her hips as she climbed the stairs, "And I guess all those years travelling from rich family to rich family you never flirted."

He chuckled, following her up the stairs, "Hey I actually got some unexpected attention the other night too."

She paused at the top of the stairs, turning to face him, eyes wide, "Oh?"

"Now you're interested. God my back hurts, been in that car for hours," he stretched, "and I've missed my bed."

"Stop changing the subject, what attention?"

He smiled, reaching for her waist as she stood on the top stair above him, "Jealous?"

"Do I have reason to be?"

He leant forward, pressing his face into her stomach, squeezing her waist; he'd missed how she felt, how she smelt, "Not for a second."

"Good… but I still want to know more."

He stepped up next to her, lifting her up easily into his arms, the sweet weight of her as he carried her through to her bedroom and laid her down upon the still warm sheets – he'd missed her bed too.

She lay back, scooted beneath the quilt and plumped his pillow as she watched him undress.

"So I was just sitting in the bar the other night, reading The Times, having a brandy, trying not to get drawn into the lewd conversation the others were having."

"Mmm…"

"There were a few of us, just enjoying finally having a few hours off. One of the girls, women sorry, Melanie…"

"How old?"

"Fortyish."

"Okay," she bit her lip as she listened.

"She was chatting to me, swapping information as you do." He climbed into bed with her, laying back in his now familiar spot. "And then she made it clear that if I ever wanted to go out one time she'd be up for that."

"Shameless tart," she said after a long pause.

"Elsie!"

"I know," she sighed, "that's ironic coming from me."

"I wasn't going to say that." He stared down at her, "Are you jealous?"

"No," she said quickly, "what's she look like?"

"Blonde, dark blonde, bit taller than you, not much. Nice enough. She's worked for the family before when they have these big events…You are jealous."

"I don't get jealous."

"But you are," he smiled, his cheeks rosy.

"Maybe a little. But wouldn't you be?"

"Like you wouldn't believe," he tugged her to him, kissing the top of her head, "no need to be, I'm perfectly happy."

"That sounds quaint."

" _Unbelievably_ happy," he held her tighter, "she isn't you."

She was silent then, running her hand over his bare chest, before she rested her head there, feeling comfy and settled against him. Charles reached over and turned the lamp off and the room seemed cosier in the dark, as if somehow it pushed them closer together.

"My favourite spot," she reflected, closing her eyes.

He stroked his hand through her hair, "I didn't realise you had one."

"This is it."

For a long time they were quiet, his eyes closed, his hand danced delicately upon her back, tracing indecipherable patterns over her skin. It was late, and he'd worked almost non-stop for two weeks, and it felt good to be falling to sleep with her in his arms.

"I missed you," she whispered and he breathed deeply, his eyes opening.

"I missed you too. Very much."

* * *

 **Sunday 17** **th** **April**

They'd agreed to meet for breakfast in town at the Pig and Pastry; he was early – as usual. The mornings were lighter now, which meant he couldn't easily return to sleep, and he'd always been an early riser anyhow. So, he dressed and took a stroll into town.

It was nice on a Sunday morning when the streets were quiet and he enjoyed the fresh air and the briskness of his walk.

Being early had the advantage of him being able to get the best table too, right by the window. He ordered a pot of tea, found his glasses and started on the crossword.

This was how Elsie found him. She too had walked, though she'd taken the buss partway living slightly further out. And she felt light and free, healthy from being outdoors in the warmer weather. She wore loose trousers and sandals, her hair down and still curled; it was Sunday and she couldn't be bothered with straighteners and makeup.

She spotted Charles before he did her, and it was rather nice to see him – the imposing figure that he was, almost regal as he sat concentrating on his crossword.

She came up behind him, slid her hands over his shoulders and whispered by his ear, "Hello handsome."

Distracted from the paper he looked up quickly, bumping his chin against hers as he turned and then smiling at her giggle.

"Good morning."

She met him for a kiss, "Morning," before moving round to her seat.

"Have you ordered?"

"No," he folded his paper up and slipped his glasses off. "But I know what I'm having. Eggs benedict, no question."

"Ooh sounds good, I'll have the same. And get more tea. Oh and an apple juice for me too."

He saluted, "Yes sir."

"Ma'am, I prefer ma'am."

He chuckled, "You're on fine form this morning, I take it you had a good night with the girls."

"I did actually. We had face packs and drank wine and ate pizza and watched old movies."

"That does sound good, aside from the face pack business of course," he coughed, "I'd skip that bit."

"But of course you would, never do that." She teased, mocking his voice.

"I'll go order."

* * *

"So, I wanted to ask you something," Charles said, taking the lid from the teapot and stirring the leaves around inside. "And feel free to say no."

"That sounds leading," She poured milk into both cups, heard him suck in a tight breath as she did so.

"You know how I feel about this – milk after."

"I know, I know. Sorry. I was trying to be organised," she held her hands up, "I won't interfere, I'll drink my juice instead like a good girl."

"I'm not sure you've ever been good."

"Hey!"

"I'm sorry, okay, stop changing the subject."

"I'm not."

"You distract me," he poured the tea.

She leant forward, pushing her breasts forward, "Distracting? I don't know what you mean, sweetheart."

He was shaking his head as he pushed her teacup across the table toward her, "I have a serious thing to ask. Work related."

"Okay," she sat back, "go on. Do you need a job?"

"Not for me exactly… Have you found anyone yet?"

"For…? Oh, you mean a replacement, no, I haven't." She watched his face, the nod of his head and the way he stirred sugar into his tea as he contemplated his next line. "Do you have somebody in mind?" She asked, putting him out of his misery.

"Yes, actually, I was talking to Ethel the other day and…"

She'd expected that name, he seemed to have formed some attachment to the young mother and her exuberant son. And, as she had gradually discovered over the past few months, he was the kindest, sweetest man.

She tuned back into his reasoning as to why she should hire her and cut him off, "You want me to give her a try?"

"Would you be willing?"

"Does she have any experience at all with office work? Or property?"

He sighed, "Not that I know of, but you could just –,"

"You know I'm going to agree so you can just stop with the persuasive techniques."

He smiled, "That was fairly easy."

She shrugged, "Well, you know, you do look mighty good today."

"Do I?" He felt himself flush, "So, because I look good I get what I want?"

"Don't push things Mr Carson, this is a public establishment."

He laughed, "I'm well aware of that. How do we go about this then? Does she get an interview or do you need to call her or something?"

"I'll give her a call, set up a meeting, wait do you have her number?"

"Course not. But I can give you the number to the café. Would that bother you if I had her number?"

"Yes, she's young and beautiful."

"I know somebody else who is."

"You're shameless – pour the tea, I think she's bringing our breakfast over."

* * *

They chatted as they ate; about her plans for expansion, about his many bookings for the summer. As he spoke about his time away, events in France and Spain, she found herself already missing his presence. Missing their weekends together, their walking and breakfasts and cuddling on the sofa.

She'd come to realise that she thought of him most of the time now, so ingrained in her life as he'd become, and when things happened the first thing she thought was that she wanted to tell him about it. Get his opinion or make him laugh or simply share.

"So, what do you want to do for the rest of the day?" She asked playfully after breakfast; reaching across the table to touch his hand with hers, tipping his fingers back, caressing his thumb with her forefinger. "Unless you already have plans, I don't know."

"I'm free and at your disposal. Why, what would you like to do?"

She sat back in her chair, raising her eyebrows at him, eyes shining.

"Oh," he said, stretching his legs out. "Well, that might be nice…rather nice."

"Shall we get the bill then?" She said gently. "And head home?"

"I'll go pay now."

* * *

His flat was closer so they walked there, her arm looped around his as they chatted. It was bright out, not warm exactly but pleasant; a blue sky and the blossom in the trees, showers of pink and white.

They kissed for an age in his hallway, pressed up against his door, wandering hands and pleasurable sighs setting the tone for the day. Sunday always seemed to slow everything down, make everything trancelike and sumptuous.

They undressed in unison, watching each other, confident in their mutual attraction.

"Do you want something to drink?" He asked, humour in his voice as she unhooked her bra.

She shook her head, "Though, tantalisingly, I do need to use your bathroom."

"How seductive you are," he threw his shirt over the bottom of the bed.

"Or old," she added, the top half of her body now naked. "Needs must," she passed him, touching his arm briefly before leaving the bedroom. "Don't run off."

"Little chance of that," he sat back on the bed, pulling off his socks.

When she came back in he was still sitting there, and she smiled as she placed her hands on his shoulders, "So cute, sitting here in just your pants."

"Don't look too closely."

"Silly," she kissed him deeply, parting his knees and moving between his legs, his arms curling around her waist, fingers racing up her spine,

"This is all very natural now," he said, his voice husky, millimetres from her mouth. "Not all… you know, fiery and passion and stuff."

"And stuff," she laughed, pushing him back onto the bed. "We'll see about passion."

* * *

Outside the rain fell, a whisper at first, a delicate touch upon budding trees and freshly mowed lawns. The earlier blue sky replaced by shades of grey, purple-tinged wisps of cloud.

Elsie laid back listening, staring up at the ceiling, feeling Charles move beside her, his hand warm on her belly, his breath on her shoulder as he bent to kiss her there.

The rain quickened, louder now, a constant patter against the windowsill.

"Open the window," she said, moving the arm he was kissing up, brushing his hair with her fingers.

"Open," _kiss_ , "the", _kiss_ , "window? It's raining."

"I like the sound of it."

"I'm naked."

"I won't look."

He rolled away from her, "I'm not bothered about you looking, it's the rest of the street."

"Hide behind the curtain."

He grumbled as he got out of bed, leaving the warmth of their shared bedsheets to go and open the window. Elsie whistled at him, slapping her hands on top of the bed, "Are you looking at my bottom, Miss Hughes?"

"It's quite nice."

"Don't look at my flabby bits," he walked backwards to the bed and she giggled, twisting onto her side, supporting her head with her hand.

"I have flabby bits too, they're nothing to be ashamed about."

"Yes, but your cuddly bits…"

"I like how you subtly changed that but do go on."

"…Well," he slid back beneath the bedsheets, "your cuddly bits are nice and smooth and warm and inviting," he tugged her body against his, nuzzling her neck again.

"And yours aren't?"

"I don't think so," he tilted her body, his hands wide on her back as he supported her, and his mouth dipping down, tongue circling her nipple.

She closed her eyes, fingers curling into her hair as his mouth moved from one breast to the other. Her leg slid over his, body rolling forward, her pelvis pressing into him, his mouth shifting, moving up to find hers.

"I can't get enough of you," he whispered, rolling her onto her back again, brushing her hair back from her face. "Something about you."

"It's the drugs I'm sneaking into your food, keeps you coming back for more."

"Must be," he settled against her, his chin resting gently on her chest. "Only explanation for it."

"It's like KFC, something they put into the chicken, you know, the coating, keeps you going back for more, craving it daily." She bit her lip, breaking into a glorious smile. "I like our deep discussions."

"They're life changing. I thought you wanted to listen to the rain."

"I do, you started talking."

"My apologies." He moved slightly, his body beside hers again and he was quiet, closing his eyes and dozing a little.

Elsie listened to the rain, enjoyed the simple pleasure of just lying there in his arms on a Sunday afternoon, after making love and cuddling and chatting. There was little more she wanted.

* * *

"Tell me something nobody else knows," he said later, his hand on her stomach, head beside hers on the pillow.

"What like? Like something I've done? Something illegal?"

He chuckled, "Not necessarily. Just something normal that nobody else knows."

She twisted her mouth as she considered, "You might not look at me in the same way."

"Considering the way you've made me feel today, there's not very much that could alter my opinion of you."

"Flirt," she twisted over so she could look at him, relishing the feel of his hand moving easily across her waist and down to rest on her hip. "Okay, so when I get in from work…" she giggled, shaking her head, "you'll think it perverted!"

"Now I definitely need to know."

"I like to take my underwear off."

He gasped – halfway between a gasp and a laugh, "What? Why?"

"It's nothing sexual. I just find it uncomfortable. Victorian invention, knickers, I find them uncomfortable." She pressed on his chest, "And don't tell anybody else that neither."

"God no," he laughed again, "so you potter about making dinner sans pants?"

"Get rid of that smirk, makes you look like a dirty old man."

"Believe me this particular image is gonna sustain me for a while."

"Now I wish I hadn't told you," she pouted.

"Why?"

"Because… because you know something personal, something to hold over me."

He frowned, "You think I'd use things against you."

"No. Well, not right now, just when… if…"

"If things go tits up and we end up hating each other?"

"Yes."

"Not all relationships go wrong."

"They don't all work neither."

"True, but still, I hope we have enough respect for each other that we wouldn't resort to such things as name calling and secret telling."

She smiled at that, sliding her hand up over his chest, "It's different isn't it, doing this now, at our age?"

"Very much so."

"I keep thinking of Tom and Sybil, they met a similar time to us and look at them…"

He didn't comment, in fact he deliberately sucked on his tongue to hold his comments in.

"They move so fast, it's all so intense and passionate and all of it all now."

"I guess when you're older there's not such a need to rush it, to get it all in one go. Like a kid with an Easter egg – they want to smash it up and eat it all in one quick sitting for the instant gratification. I like taking my time."

"With me, or with chocolate…?" she teased.

"Both… especially when I'll know you're without panties next time I come over."

"Oh I always leave them on when I know you're coming over."

"Different rules?"

She pressed up against him, whispering hotly, "I like you taking them off."

"God you turn me on." He rolled her over, covering her mouth with his, caressing and tasting for long, slow minutes.

She took his hand, spread her arm out across the pillow stretching his with it and groaning into his mouth.

The kiss slowed, came to a halt, and she smiled up at him, her legs parted around him so naturally, so easily, making room for him.

"Am I squashing you if we stay like this?"

She shook her head, "You know, I think you're right. Being older does give the advantage of not feeling the need to rush. We have no banging desire to marry and procreate so therefore the actual enjoyment from just getting to know each other over time…" she shrugged, "I can't make that sentence make sense."

"You did. It did. And I agree, I'm still enjoying getting to know you. Learning about you. I look forward to seeing you, I'm not too sentimental you know…"

"Really?" She smirked.

"Ha ha, but truthfully, I so look forward to spending time with you."

"I feel the same," her voice had lowered and it made him hold her gaze for a moment or two longer.

"I don't just find you attractive or lust after you."

"Why the hell not?!"

"Stop being silly."

"It's easier than being serious."

"I'm trying to explain that I care for you, I respect you."

She giggled, "But will you still respect me in the morning?"

"I give up, you're too much."

She kissed him gently, "It's your turn anyhow…" He frowned. "To tell me something nobody else knows."

"Ah. Okay… well…" he frowned again as he considered. "I do always wear underwear. In winter, sometimes a vest."

"Sexy."

"I know. Let's see…oh, when I was a boy I stole a Mars bar from the corner shop."

"No way!" She gasped.

"Was dared, by the other kids on our street. I spent a fortnight thinking I was going to be thrown in prison every time I saw or heard a police car. Nearly gave myself a heart attack one night when my dad had Crimewatch on, I never knew you see. Thought I'd end up on one of those camera things… Who stole the Mars bar?"

She was laughing so much she could hardly speak, but somehow she impersonated a serious commentator, "Charles Carson! Convicted age…?"

"Thirteen."

"Thirteen. This gangly young man was found stuffing a Mars bar into his jeans whilst the shopkeeper's back was turned. Police fear he would've gone for a Milky Way too was it not for other customers entering the store."

"Well at least I wear knickers whilst preparing dinner!"

"You bloody thief!" She squeezed his upper arms, a delighted smile on her face as his hands moved to tickle her waist. "Wait, that's not fair, I'm ticklish you're not… Charles," she giggled, gasping for air, squirming on the bed as his fingers dug into her flesh. "I can't breathe!"

He murmured something as his mouth slid down between her breasts, the tickling easing into a gentle stroke of her skin, and his kisses wandering down, lower, lower. They hadn't done this yet – unbelievably – but they hadn't.

She closed her eyes, tilted her pelvis up towards him as his body moved lower over hers. Sweet anticipation already building between her legs despite the two wonderful orgasms she'd already had. Part of her wanted this to never end, just to stay here hidden away with no cares and just pleasure; long drawn-out pleasure.

* * *

 **Saturday 23** **rd** **April**

Charles sat back on Elsie's bed, fiddling with his tie. "Sorry I'm so early picking you up." He said.

"No bother, I'm sorry I'm late getting ready – I'm having a real issue with these bloody kids. Spent all day trying to get hold of one of them." She called from the bathroom.

He leant back, getting comfy against her piled up pillows, "What's this again?"

"These kids, I told you, didn't I?" She wandered in, her robe on over her underwear. "I don't have time to wash my hair, I'm hoping it'll make do."

"I'm sure it will," he said, then reflected, "looks great."

She smiled, moving to sit at her dressing table. "So smooth."

"These kids?"

"Some students in one of my houses, I told you this, they've not paid the rent, I've a feeling the house isn't being treated well neither."

"I forget," he grinned this time, enjoying watching her apply her make-up, jovial for the evening ahead.

"What's making you smile?"

"You? And the prospect of a good dinner," he tilted his legs up, kicking his shoes off in the process. "I'm happy you're spending time with my friends."

"Me too," she sprayed leave-in shampoo onto her hair, brushing it through with her fingers, adding volume to the roots. "Not too bad."

"What are you wearing?"

"Black dress, is that smart enough?"

"It's not super formal, more casual dinner."

"You're wearing a tie."

"It's bothering me too," he toyed with the knot again. "My throat's still sore."

"It's not shifted?"

"Not as yet. Picked it up whilst I was away."

"Did you go to the Doctors?"

"I'm thinking about it." He shrugged.

She shook her head, "Men," and got to her feet. "You look like you're prepared for a show, slumped there like that."

He shrugged, "Your bed's comfy."

"I know," she slipped her robe off, moved her hips playfully until he waggled his eyebrows and she giggled before beginning to slip on her dress. "So tomorrow I have to go to this house."

"On a Sunday?"

"I know, but since Ethel hasn't started yet Anna and I are rushed off our feet." She turned her back to him, "Zip me up?"

He swung his legs down from the bed and took hold of the dainty zip, "You want me to come with you?"

"You don't need to; I can manage it on my own."

"No, I know," he placed delicate kisses on her back, "but still, I'd like to all the same. Then we can go out, have lunch, go see a film if it's raining as badly as its meant to tomorrow."

"Forecast hail I saw."

"Me too."

"Hard to believe when it's been so gorgeous today." She turned around, hands on hips.

"You're gorgeous."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome… Unless I'm getting in your way; perhaps you want some space?"

She bent forward and kissed his cheek, "No, you're not getting in my way. Right, shall we go, I feel oddly nervous."

"Why?"

"Because they're your friends, good friends."

"You've met them before. You spent new year's eve at their house remember…" he said pointedly, unable to hide the grin of pride on his face.

"That's the problem."

* * *

Elsie couldn't fault the food – everything was exquisite; from the mini hor d'oeuvres before dinner and the perfectly chilled Champagne to the expensive red they had with the main course and the, slightly-too-sweet-for-her, dessert wine that came with the tart.

But as for it being a casual, relaxed affair, well clearly she had a different view on 'casual'. There were twelve for dinner including herself and Charles, Matthew, Mary, Isobel, Richard, Edith, Robert, Cora… they were the ones she knew. The other three were family friends and by God was she glad of Isobel, a familiar friendly face.

She excused herself just before the coffee arrived and disappeared to the bathroom to freshen up. Truth be told she was tired and distracted by work, so she probably wasn't in the best mood for making polite small talk. But she was trying. She applied more lipstick, plastered on a smile and made her way back downstairs to the dining room.

The conversation appeared to have shifted to talk of the upcoming Matthew/Mary wedding and she was glad of a lighter mood. She slipped into her chair, reached for the coffee Charles had poured for her and felt his hand slip to her back, lightly tracing down her spine; a quick touch before he retreated again.

"At least she's chosen someone halfway decent and reliable," she heard Robert say and his words caused a jolt to her stomach. She looked up quickly.

"As opposed to whom?" She asked, before her brain could stop her mouth.

Robert took his time sipping his brandy, his eyes dark as he gazed at her over the top of his glass. "My apologies Elsie, I know you won't share my opinion."

She leant back in her chair, both hands around her coffee cup, "I'm assuming you're referring to Tom, so no, I'm not going to agree."

So much for the lighter mood in the room. It all stood still now, silent, as the warm air moved about them. She watched Charles shift his hand upon the heavy, white tablecloth, his large fingers gripping the stem of his empty wine glass.

"Perhaps not, but he isn't quite what we hoped for with our youngest daughter."

"Do you know him? I mean, have you taken the time to get to know him?"

"Let's not discuss this tonight," Cora said. "It isn't the place."

"They're happy, aren't they?" Isobel asked, her tone jovial. "Isn't that what matters?"

"Not our place mother," Matthew said refilling his and Mary's coffee cups.

"She's only a baby," Mary added, "and he's older and had more… experience."

"Or the people he knows have," Robert amended.

Elsie bit her lip sharply, pushing her cup away, "Is that a dig at me?"

"Elsie…" Charles said gently by her side and she glanced over to his stricken face.

"I'm sorry, but really we have no right to sit here and bitch over a particularly lovely couple who are very much in love," she said plainly. "And if they want to move in together or get married or have children who are we to judge?"

"Is that what they're doing?" Cora asked quickly.

Elsie felt bile rise in her throat, she shook her head, "No… no, I'm just saying."

"Well be that as it may," Robert sat forward with a sense of authority, "she isn't your daughter, and he isn't your son, so your view on things might be slightly different to ours."

"Yes, I accept that, but he is my friend so I do feel a need to defend, and I don't appreciate somebody badmouthing him."

"A very _good_ friend too, isn't he, Elsie?"

She felt her throat tighten, her mouth was dry and she could almost hear Charles' heartbeat next to her thrumming loudly.

"That lemon tart was exquisite," Richard butted in, "do you always use the same catering company Cora?"

Elsie heard the rest of the conversation going in the background of her mind, but it was nothing but a gentle hum beyond the buzz in her brain. She daren't look at Charles, she felt his shame just as she felt the redness in her cheeks.

* * *

Elsie almost stumbled down the stone steps leading away from the house, groaning in relief she pressed a clammy palm to her forehead and headed down the path shrouded in budding spring branches.

"Oh god," She huffed. "Ohhhh god, that was quite possibly the most awful, horrid dinner I've ever been to."

"Don't say that," he said, shutting the gate. "I know it was awkward…"

"Awkward?! Bloody hell Charles we crossed over from awkward about fifteen minutes after arrival."

He watched her turn left and head down the street.

"Where are you going?"

"Home."

"We were going to stay at my flat, it's not far to walk to."

"I remember."

"Elsie, slow down," he huffed, half-running after her, "you can't walk the entire way to your house. Come on, be sensible."

"I am being sensible."

He caught hold of her arm, "Elsie, stop, let's turn round, go to mine and…"

"I don't want to even be in the same house as you right now Charles let alone the same bed!"

"What have I done?"

"Bugger all, that's what."

"Alright, what was I meant to do?"

"I don't know, maybe act like you gave a shit and support me."

"You don't need supporting, you handle things pretty damn well all on your own."

"Is it completely alien to you to think your girlfriend might like to feel you're on her side?"

"They just found out their youngest child is moving in with a man they hardly know…or like, or trust."

"There, that's it, that tone! That roll of the eyes. Tom is my friend."

"You made that abundantly clear."

She opened her mouth to speak then stopped herself, "I'm not doing this. I'm not arguing in the street with you. I'm going home." She started walking again.

"It's at least six miles."

"Then I'll be a while."

"Elsie, for God's sake!" He chased after her again. "You're infuriating."

" _I'm_ infuriating."

"You act so quickly; you flounce into things without really thinking of the consequences."

"What?" She turned to face him, "Like bedding you, you mean, because certainly my morals were called into question tonight."

"Not that, no, not you and I. Don't tarnish that."

"I didn't. They did. Clearly I'm not good enough." She breathed deeply, shakily. "Christ I need a single malt."

He stood in front of her, rested a hand on either arm. "Let's call a taxi, please, I want to make sure you get home safely even if you don't want me there."

"I can't talk about this anymore right now, I need at least an hour before we discuss it again so I can just…digest it, think what I want to say and not just bawl at you."

"Okay."

She dug her phone from her bag, "What's the street name?"

"Chestnut avenue."

She dialled, holding the phone to her ear. "And what's that door number?"

"Erm, my eyes are bad, 87, I think."

She ordered the taxi and they stood side-by-side at the side of the road waiting for it.

"You know something, don't you?" He said several minutes later, his brain replaying the scene, rehearing the words she'd said. "Something about Tom and Sybil."

Elsie's arms were folded across her chest, her legs crossed at the ankle as she leant against a wall; she didn't want to lie to him but still…

"It's not my information to tell."

"Well then, that lets me know all I need to." He said frostily. "I don't understand you."

"No, likely not."

"We're meant to be…and yet you're…"

"I'm what? I'm not lying to you Charles, but it really isn't my place to tell someone else's news and besides you'd run off straight to Lord bloody Grantham and tell all. And don't pretend you wouldn't."

"That wasn't like you, to go off like that at somebody in their own home."

"It was very like me, Charles, when there are things I don't agree with. I can't just keep my mouth shut for the sake of it. Yes, the timing was bad, but if he'd had really cared about his guests he wouldn't have brought it up in front of me anyhow."

Charles nodded, stepped forward and waved to the taxi driver coming down the road.

"Will you be okay?" He asked. "You have money to pay the fare?"

She was surprised, despite what she'd said earlier she didn't think she'd go home alone.

"Yes, I'll be fine."

"Good." He dug his hands into his jacket pockets. "Well, I guess I'll call you."

She suddenly felt defensive, felt the space he'd been starting to occupy in her heart close up and freeze, just like she had so many times in the past when any man had started to ease his way into her affections.

"Don't force yourself," she said abruptly and got into the car, letting the door slam shut.

* * *

 _So, please let me know what you think..._


	14. Chapter 14

_Can't say THANK YOU enough for all the support for the last chapter, I loved reading your comments (I like a bit of debate!) xxx_

* * *

 **Chapter 14**

 **Sunday 24** **th** **April**

When Charles woke he was alone, and he hated that fact.

Now, almost five months into the year, he loathed weekends waking without Elsie cuddled up against him; he hated Sundays that started without her, without them beginning their day together making love.

For a while he lay in bed, watching the sunlight cast patterns over the pale bedclothes, eyeing where his suit hung lopsided on the wardrobe door. What a disaster it had been, the previous night. He still felt he was right not to interfere, of course, but with a little less certainty than he had when standing on the pavement with her the night before.

He knew, was certain, that she knew more than she was saying, and that bothered him. He felt, perhaps selfishly, that she should share her knowledge with him, because they were his friends, and Sybil was as close to being his niece as he was ever likely to experience.

Frustration, that was what he felt, and yet, undeniably there was an element of respect for her – he'd never come across a woman so utterly sure of herself. Someone willing to stand up for what she believed in – and Robert was no easy man to stand up to.

He groaned, remembering for the thousandth time some of Robert's choice phrases; the insinuations, Elsie's snappish tone.

And yet, he wasn't ashamed of her. In fact, quite the opposite, he felt he was falling in love with her. That fact had never seemed so starkly obvious to him until he was lying alone in his bed in the dark of a Saturday night, thinking about Elsie doing the same, imagining how she felt, what was going through her head; only then did he face the fact that this could, at any moment, go horribly wrong and they could part.

And that would be it. No more Elsie in his life. That made him feel even more anxious than he had at Robert and Cora's.

On reflection he understood that she felt attacked at the dinner party – but he was as equally as sure that none of that was intended, or expected, when the dinner began. Sometimes events just spiral, conversations take a turn, move in a different direction and before you know it you're sitting with a lump in your throat and a tremendous amount of guilt on your shoulder.

He needed to be the bigger man, make a move. Once he'd checked the time, he reached across to the phone and started to dial her number, and at that precise moment Robert rang.

For some reason he felt nervous.

"Hello?"

"Charles, good morning, not too early, didn't wake you?"

"No, no, I was awake," he shuffled up to sit, pushing his pillow up behind him.

"Good. Look old man, I need to apologise for last night, too much alcohol and tensions ran a little high and, look, just please tell Elsie I'm sorry…"

Charles imagined Cora sitting beside him, forcing him to apologise; he said simply, "She isn't here."

"What?"

"I mean, I'm at home, at the flat. She went home after dinner."

"Oh…" Robert let out a long breath. "Shit."

"I was going to call her, just wanted to give her time to cool off –,"

"Look, you wanna have some breakfast, my treat? Let's go full English at the golf club and then maybe hit a few balls about later?"

It sounded as good an idea as any. He'd contact Elsie after he'd had time to talk to Robert and cool down; then at least he'd call her with a clear mind.

* * *

"The thing is," Charles said, watching as Robert refilled his wine glass, "we still don't entirely know each other, we couldn't after only four months."

"And yet?" Robert prompted.

"And yet I already care so much for her, unbelievably so."

"She won't hold it against you though, will she? Last night?"

Charles shrugged, truth be told it was three in the afternoon and he was feeling a little merry. They'd had breakfast, and chatted till lunch, played a few holes and now were onto dinner – a late Sunday lunch of roast lamb, and lots of wine and he was feeling red-cheeked and drowsy.

"I don't know. We're quite different, I realise that. And we react to things differently, see things differently."

Robert wiped his mouth and put his napkin aside, "Look. It's not often I admit to things, but, I was a bit of an idiot last night. A big idiot really. And I worry Elsie will feel I disparaged her. I didn't mean to."

"No, no… don't think that."

Robert waved a hand, "Charles, come on, you don't have to… I was drunk, I'm halfway there now, truth be told. And I'm upset over Sybil, which came out as anger. And Elsie was the only one brave enough to respond and so that's that."

"She broke one of my cardinal rules – respectful behaviour to the dinner party host."

Robert laughed, "Yes, but perhaps she hasn't had the training you have." He picked up his cutlery again, cutting into the lamb, "And I do need to apologise to her, and I will, if she'll let me."

"Thank you, I'd appreciate that. Let me talk to her first though, hey. Maybe we can have dinner, just the four of us… if she still wants to see me."

"Surely she will."

"Maybe," he chewed his meat, wiped his mouth on his napkin. "The thing is, you know me and women, me and anybody, I don't say much…"

"Deep thinker," Robert teased.

"Yeah, quite! She erm, well, at the start you know how I rushed into it all, like some bumbling old fool. And I scared her off, and –,"

"Yes. It was unlike you, to rush into things. You're always so thoughtful, measured."

"Maybe. Something about her, something made me want to get to know her, be with her – selfishly, not let any other bastard get there first!"

Robert laughed, refilling their wine glasses, "Can't say as I blame you, she's pretty attractive."

"She's fiercely independent though."

"I told you she was one of these modern women, you wouldn't listen."

"Yeah well, it's just, that's her front, you know, we all have one. And she likes to maintain this front – tough, happy alone. But when you get to know her – she's so dear to me."

Robert put his cutlery down, folded his hands atop of his of his swollen belly; it surprised him to hear Charles talk so openly.

"Sorry, I'm embarrassing you, I'm embarrassing myself."

"No, it's fine, Lord knows you've heard my family reflections many times before. And sat. And just listened."

Charles finished his wine again, another bottle gone. "She's very sweet to me, kind, and she listens to me, wants to know about me. I never had that before, someone who was interested. And we laugh together."

"That's important, believe me, when the passion wears off you want to know you can laugh at each other's aging complaints. I guess you'll still be in the lustful stage for a while yet though," he teased, trying to lighten the mood.

Charles felt his cheeks burn, he jerked his legs forward beneath the table, stretched his hands on the table.

"Sorry, sorry, you're a gent. You don't discuss such matters."

"I'm not a dinosaur."

"No. But I was a bit last night, when I think of the insinuations and Tom, shit I was rude."

"Yes, you were rather," it was the first time Charles could recall telling Robert exactly what he thought. "I think she was hurt, embarrassed, and that led to us clashing…" he shook his head, "I'm sure I can call her, make it right."

"No doubt. You want to have some coffee, join the others for a drop of Single Malt in the other room?"

Charles glanced at his watch, a quarter-to-four, a few more drinks with the guys in the members' room wouldn't hurt.

* * *

 **Tuesday 26** **th** **April**

"You've not spoken to him since Saturday night?" Isobel asked, pushing her wine glass towards Elsie to refill. "That's ridiculous."

"Why?" Elsie poured wine for all three of them, feeling highly defensive – it was honed over years of disappointments, and resurrected over the past few days. "I coped on my own before. I can certainly be single again."

"Don't be stupid," Beryl said, "what the hell happened?"

"I don't want to rehash it."

"Bugger that," Beryl interrupted, "like it or not I want to know."

"It was a misunderstanding," Isobel started.

"There was no misunderstanding," Elsie said sharply.

"Perhaps not," Isobel softened, "but Charles was in a difficult position."

"He hasn't called me either, it isn't just _me_ being difficult."

"You weren't being difficult," Isobel said, "you were being you – you stick up for what you believe in, I admire that…I think it shocked Charles a little, how tough you are."

"I'm not apologising for that."

"Nobody's asking you to, that's not what I meant. I'm just trying to understand why he'd be hurt, or confused or… something. I don't know. To explain why he hasn't called."

"You've heard nothing at all from him?" Beryl asked, and Elsie shook her head. "Maybe you're losing your touch." She teased.

"Don't say things like that," Isobel chided.

"Clearly," Elsie took a gulp of wine, closing her eyes, feeling something heavy shift in her chest – it had lived there for days now, bedding down, bustling around, like some small animal hibernating.

Isobel and Beryl shared a glance, and Beryl reached across to touch Elsie's arm, causing her friend to start, "Hey, I was just joking, you know that don't you?"

Elsie attempted a smile, "Yes, I know. I wasn't offended."

"Good, because we all know you're a bomb in bed. Remember? Anna even chose you over we two fine specimens."

"I wish I'd never bought that damn pillow," she complained, squeezing the cork between her forefinger and thumb.

"What pillow?" Beryl asked.

"Charles likes to be higher up, helps with his breathing so he doesn't snore. I like to be lower down, my pillows were flatter so I bought him this pillow, was really expensive too, meant to be good for your back and stuff…" she caught the wide-eyed expressions of her two friends. "Okay, take the piss then."

"That's really sweet," Isobel said.

"Yeah, and if he isn't sleeping over anymore then maybe you could beat him with the pillow instead," Beryl suggested.

Despite her mood, she laughed, refilling her wine again and taking another drink before suddenly closing her eyes, holding in a sob and feeling her eyes burn.

"Oh sweetheart," Beryl said, getting up from her chair and sliding her arms around her friend; Elsie never cried, _ever_.

"Oh don't hug me," she shook her off, wiping her face, pulling back from them, "that was silly. Silly thing for me to do. If he doesn't call he doesn't call, that's it, I'm not hankering for him."

"Darling, clearly you are," Isobel said, standing too now.

She looked from face-to-face, "I don't want to be upset."

"We know that."

"It just… I thought we were different, I thought we might somehow, I don't know."

"Be long term?" Beryl suggested.

"Something like that, it was all going so well and I felt so, bloody hell, happy. Isn't that so saccharine it makes you want to puke! But it's true, I liked him, I really, _really_ liked him."

"Els, I know this might seem a pretty ridiculous suggestion, but could you not call him?"

"I nearly have, several times, but I bottled it," she slipped onto the stool at her breakfast bar again; she'd have to eat soon or the wine was going to send her to sleep.

"Why? You're not usually coy about facing things."

"I texted him, caved in Sunday afternoon and sent him a message, and he never replied. Obviously. So, I kinda thought fuck him, fuck all men!"

Beryl chuckled, "There's the spirit! They're only good for one thing."

"Yes, opening the lids on jars!" Elsie said laughing, because it was better than starting to cry again like some old idiot. "Oh god," she ruffled her hair, "let's stick these pizzas in and open another bottle of wine. You will stay for a while, won't you?"

Isobel hugged her from behind, "Course we will sweetheart, let's trash men together." She kissed her cheek, then whispered, "But don't entirely give up on him, not yet, I don't think you and your Mr Carson are quite done."

* * *

 **Wednesday 27** **th** **April**

She was in the bathroom when the phone rang, her toothbrush in her mouth. She heard it ring, ignored it, it stopped. She rinsed, patted her mouth on the towel; her mobile rang instead.

It was on the bedside table and she flicked her hand across it, answering the call, as she picked it up.

"Hello," she said, pressing the 'speaker' button and laying it down again without even looking at the screen. She untied her robe, let it slip down.

"Good morning," Charles said, as jovially as he could.

"Oh," she said, stopping, covering her bare breasts with her hands as if he could see. "Morning. This is early."

"I know, sorry, I thought you'd already be up."

"I am. I didn't mean that…" she found her bra, started to fasten it. "I meant I'm surprised to hear from you." She closed her eyes, bit her lip in frustration – this was all coming out wrong.

"Oh right, so, do you want me to leave you alone?"

"Don't make the decision mine, you're the one who decided to go home the other night."

"You told me to."

She stood in the middle of her bedroom in just her underwear, hands on hips, feeling very awkward and very silly. This wasn't at all how she'd wanted their conversation to go.

Charles was sitting at his kitchen table, a mug of strong tea cradled in his hand, hair ruffled, still in his pyjamas and feeling like utter rubbish.

"Well," he finally said, his voice still low, husky from sleep. "It seems you don't want to hear from me, so I suppose I better go."

"I didn't say that," she almost stomped her foot, but she wasn't a child and she'd been through too many break up phone calls before to behave so foolishly. "Look Charles, I'll make it easy," she sat down on the bed, pulling on a jumper, "if you want to just, I don't know, call it a day –,"

"What?"

"If that's what you want. To end this. That's fine, we can just…"

"…No, that's not why I was calling. Is that what you want?"

"I hadn't… you just hadn't called so I thought…"

"You hadn't called me either."

"I texted you on Sunday, you never replied, so I assumed you didn't want contact, that I embarrassed you."

"No, I never got it. I thought I'd embarrassed you. You said I let you down."

"I was angry, you never replied to me, I said sorry, I felt like such a total idiot for apologising and then you didn't even reply."

"I never got a text, damn it, I can't deal with 21st century relationships! Christ, can't we just talk?"

She flopped back on the bed, feeling her heart pound in her chest. He sounded so upset, she'd never heard that tone, never expected him to get emotional.

"I don't want to argue with you," she finally said.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, wiping his sweaty palms on his pyjama bottoms. "I don't want to argue with you, ever. Even if you don't want to see me anymore, I don't want to have ill feelings with you… bad feelings…I'm not making sense. It's too early." He breathed again, turning his mug around on the table, "But this has been amazing and I don't want it to end, or end badly, on some sour note."

"I didn't say I want it to end."

"Okay. Good."

"And you don't?"

"Of course not. We just need to talk, I guess."

"That's what people in relationships do, apparently," She said lightly.

"So you've heard?"

"So I've heard," She smiled, for the first time; usually during their phone calls she smiled throughout. "I don't want to cut you off but I need to go, I've got to get ready, I have a breakfast meeting and I've got to drive there."

"Sure, yes, I'll erm, let you go and you know…"

"Talk soon?"

"Yeah. Yes. Have a good day."

"You too. Bye."

"Bye."

* * *

 **19:20**

Emmerdale had just gone off for its midpoint break and Elsie was in the kitchen preparing her snacks when the doorbell rang. She'd been looking forward to her time alone all day; had prepared herself in the lounge – the foot spa was set up, nail polish, nail files, cleanser, various creams and potions all set out on top of a towel on the coffee table. Her wine was chilled, and she was just about to slice into a baguette when it buzzed for a second time.

Sighing, she brushed breadcrumbs from her fingers with a cloth and glanced down at herself; she was in nothing but loose shorts and an old, misshapen vest top and slippers. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun and she was quite sure she looked a state.

Nevertheless, whomever it was would just have to cope with her current appearance… and hopefully clear off very quickly.

Charles stepped nervously from foot-to-foot, rehashing in his mind the speech he'd planned on the drive over.

It was most definitely spring now and, thankfully, warmer. Though there was no reason for the burn Charles felt on his neck, around his collar, and flaming across his skin.

The hall light was on, he could hear the murmur of the television coming from inside, and knowing she was definitely there made him feel even more nervous.

Elsie opened the door whilst wiping her hands on a towel; he could tell from her expression that his face was the last one she expected to see. Nevertheless, she quickly regained her composure.

"Oh, hi... I didn't expect…"

"I know, and I'm sorry to intrude." He paused, searching for the right words, "I didn't like how we left things, the call, I just felt… it felt awkward," he spluttered, like a teenager again on a clumsy date. "We need to talk properly, and I needed to see you." He glanced down at her ensemble; he'd never seen her in shorts and he felt the need to step back and really admire it.

"Well," she said, her voice softer, "here I am."

"You're err…" he indicated the towel, "you're going in the shower?"

"No, I'm having a pamper session." She shifted from one leg to the other, feeling the cool evening air whip around her bare legs. Charles was in nothing but a sweater and trousers, his hair blowing lightly in the breeze. "You should come in," she finally said.

"I don't want to intrude," he said again, even as he followed her inside.

"And yet here you are."

He closed the door behind him, "Yes, here I am."

She heard Emmerdale going off in the other room and realised she'd missed the second half – she wasn't even a huge fan but for some reason it aggravated her that she had.

"So, what did you want to say?" She asked, her tone sharp.

He stared at her for a moment; she was without makeup, her skin pale, her freckles out in force. He knew every inch of her now, had worshipped every inch of her, he knew that the freckles went right up the inside of her thigh, he'd kissed them, pressed his face against them.

"Charles?" She said, touching his arm, "Are you with me?"

"I don't want to argue," he said suddenly. "I couldn't bear for us to stop now, to lose you, I need you to know that."

It surprised her how much she'd needed to hear that, she let out a low breath, exhaling her worries it seemed.

"Thank you for that."

"I'm no good at this," he spluttered, trying to hide his expression as he brushed a hand over his face and through his hair. "I don't know the right thing to say. I fall on the wrong words and make a hash of it and you'll think me foolish."

"I don't think that."

"Well," he slowed himself, let himself breathe for a moment.

"I think you raise the tone of whatever establishment you're in."

"That's kind of you to say."

"And I don't want you to date anybody else," she said quickly, before she could chicken out of it. "Because I rather like the fact it's me and I'm worried you'll be put off by my big mouth and no-nonsense attitude."

He chuckled, "I rather like it."

"So, it seems we still _like_ each other," she stepped closer to him, "despite the balls up the other night."

He laughed again, "You have a certain way with words, it lightens the mood."

She smiled, resting her hands gently on his chest, "We aren't always going to agree. We're different people with different points of view."

"I know." He'd said as much to Robert the other day. "I like us getting along though."

"It would be foolish to think we always will."

"I know that," he allowed himself to bring his hands up around her waist. "I just don't like disagreement, or confrontation… But I also know that my silence hurt you."

She dipped her chin downward, "And I respond as I always do when somebody hurts me, I shut off and become spiteful instead."

"We've learned a new thing about each other then: that I'm a wimp and you're…mean?"

"You're stubborn," she teased, "and I'm snappish."

"You're beautiful," he said, his tone lower, moving her fringe from her forehead and placing a kiss there, "and I'm grumpy."

"I'm feisty and you're calm."

"Two halves…" He said, his mouth moving over hers; she sank into him, moaning her pleasure into his mouth – so glad of it, glad he was there.

"So, can I ask what's with the shorts?"

"I told you, I'm having a pamper night."

"Did you?"

"Take your coat off, I'm just getting some food and then it's wine and foot spa. Are you going to stay, have some with me?"

"I was hoping you'd ask."

In the kitchen she set to slicing the bread, laying it on a plate beside the soft cheese she'd put there; olives, sundried tomatoes, grapes.

"Pour the wine instead of watching me," she instructed, "it's in the fridge."

"Yes bossy."

He knew his way around her kitchen now, was at ease there, and he found the wine and then the corkscrew in the drawer by the sink.

"I'm not drinking, actually."

"Oh?" She rinsed her hands, watching him uncork the wine – not really a problem in his giant hands.

"Well, I rather over-indulged at the weekend, it's embarrassing for a man of my age. I met…" he looked at her, "I met Robert on Sunday, for breakfast, to talk."

"Okay," she said, feeling uncomfortable, nervous, which was ridiculous really considering her age!

"He wanted to apologise, we discussed what happened, he wants to apologise to you too by the way."

She didn't respond to that.

"And we went to the Golf Club and ate too much and drank _way_ too much and I spent Monday sleeping with a hangover."

She giggled, despite the fact she was slightly annoyed at him having the time for Robert but not to call her.

"Stupid of me. I know better and I can't hold my drink anymore. Served me right I suppose, felt as sick as a dog and then had to recover by Tuesday to catch up on all the correspondence from Monday. And then I felt foolish," he poured her a large glass of Rose, "for not calling you immediately and telling you how I felt. And I didn't know how to approach it then."

"You don't have to explain," she said softly, and she felt awful for thinking badly of him. "Do you want me to make you a cup of tea or can you manage one glass?"

He reached for her waist, moving closer to her again and drawing her into another kiss; deeper this time, more intense – he'd missed her desperately, he wondered if she knew.

"I'll take that as a yes," she whispered against his mouth.

* * *

They sat eating on the floor in the lounge, cross-legged on cushions at the coffee table. Coronation Street was on – Charles had been brought up on it and it made him remember being a child, eating toast by the fire with his parents whilst watching the long running show.

"So, what's with all this stuff?" He asked, noting the bottles lined up at the opposite end of the table.

"For my pampering, I'm going to do my face, have a foot spa, do my nails and watch something enthralling, so I can turn my brain off."

"Sounds good. I wanted to thank you, by the way, Ethel told me you'd called and she's coming to see you."

"Yes, Friday morning, she said that's her time off."

He nodded, "I appreciate you giving her a chance."

"Well, I do know how hard it is to get started, believe me. If people like Beryl hadn't given me a chance when I turned up here looking like a street urchin who knows where I'd be." She wiped her hands on a napkin (she'd only dug them out because he'd turned up), "Can I ask you a favour?"

"Of course."

"It's a little…sensitive."

He shifted a little, his bottom slipping from the cushion to the floor.

"I would like for you to come to dinner."

"That hardly seems…"

"With Tom and Sybil."

He stopped, rubbing at his elbow where he'd banged it on the floor. "That does rather put me in a difficult position."

"I understand that, because of Robert and Cora, I do. But you said you love Sybil."

"I do."

"And so I thought it might be good for you to actually meet Tom, properly, and give him a chance," she paused, watching his face for reaction. "Just one night, and if you don't see what I see between them then fine but you would at least give it a try?"

A little nudge in the right direction was all it took really.

He nodded, "Okay, I will. Did you have a date in mind? Somewhere to go?"

"I thought I might cook actually, have them here, it's relaxed that way. Thought you might help chop the veg."

He smiled, "You presume a lot Elsie."

"Me? Be presumptuous? Never. I prefer 'decisive'."

"You're certainly that."

How could he deny her when she was sitting across from him looking so wonderful?

"So, I'm going to clear this then, put something on to watch… are you staying tonight?"

He was caught off guard a little but felt the familiar stirrings of longing and desire at just the suggestion.

"If you…err, you know, I didn't plan, if you don't…"

"I'll take that as a yes too," she groaned as she got to her feet and started to pile their dishes onto a tray. "You have your little spot over there," she pointed to the sofa, the one where he always seemed to end up, "feel free to settle down. I'll make some tea."

"I can do that, you wanted to do all this stuff." He pushed against the coffee table, getting to his feet, feeling his back twinge from sitting on the floor.

"I did. I am. I'll set myself up, get the DVD on."

"What are we watching?"

"Broadchurch."

* * *

Charles had begun the evening on his usual sofa, facing the television, sipping his tea, sock-clad feet digging into the thick rug. Less than ten minutes into the drama she'd put on (borrowed from Anna) he was sitting back, legs up, feeling relaxed.

"This is making me feel rather tense," he said, as he watched the woman in the red dress search the school sport's field for her son.

"Hmm, they're plotting it well, aren't they? Anna's been telling me for years I need to catch up on this."

They both stared at the screen as the story unfolded; Elsie with her feet in the warm, fragrant water, Charles wringing his hands together. For the next ten minutes neither one of them moved.

It was the sound of Elsie reaching for a tissue and blowing her nose that startled Charles and he glanced over at her, red faced, puffy eyes.

"You okay?" He asked, his throat tight; he'd never seen her cry before.

She nodded, wiping her cheeks, "Anna never said it was going to break my heart."

"Pretty disturbing," he agreed, turning back to the television. The detectives were meeting for the first time and he watched with interest, "I like a good mystery though."

"Me too. Do you read them?"

"Often. Shall I make some more tea?" He asked without shifting his glance from the T.V.

"I'll go now, in a minute, need to empty this before my toes curl in on themselves."

"You're either going now or in a minute, you can't do both – I can go."

"You look like you want to move," she teased, seeing how comfortable he was. "You need a blanket?"

He glanced round at her, "I'm fine."

She left the room for a few minutes, emptied the foot spa, dried her feet as the kettle boiled and made more tea.

"What did I miss?"

"The boy was strangled, probably a man, and, thanks," he took the tea, "quite awfully, was facing the attacker."

"Nasty."

She settled back on the other sofa, tucking her feet up beneath her, pulling the blanket from the back to cover her legs.

"I've been there, where they filmed this, beautiful place."

"When did you go?"

"Few years ago."

"On your own?"

She smiled, unscrewing the lid on her cleanser. "Yes, does that matter?"

"Not really, I guess. Do you not, you know, feel lonely, when you're on holiday alone?"

"I'm used to it."

"I guess you've always been brave."

"I suppose," she reluctantly admitted. "Or stupid. But I'm braver now. I just wandered around the town, read on the beach, ate fish and chips."

"Sounds blissful." He watched as she rubbed thick cream onto her face in small circular movements. "What's that then?"

"Cleanser."

"What does it do?"

"Keep me looking young and beautiful for you," she smiled naughtily. "It's like when you have a facial."

"And that is?"

"You've never had a facial?"

"I'm a bloke."

"And men don't have them?"

"Not men like me."

"Charles," she got to her feet. "Let me give you one."

He waggled his eyebrows, "Right now?"

"Don't be lewd. Come on, sit up, let me do this."

"No way, feels a step too far."

"Are you worried it'll make you less of a man?"

"Something like that."

"Perhaps. Instead maybe a man with slightly better skin."

He touched his forehead, "Is my skin bad?"

"No, but it can only make it better, surely." She perched on the coffee table. "Come on, sit forward, don't make me straddle you and pin you down."

"Spending time with you is like one long tease."

"Constant foreplay. Lucky you. Sit forward."

He finally did so, reaching to touch her face as she leant into him, "Ah, don't, haven't wiped mine off yet."

"Don't tell anyone about this," he warned, but the truth was he rather enjoyed having her rubbing cream into his skin, she was gentle and tender, and the stuff she was using smelled divine! Maybe facials weren't that bad after all.

"Okay, tilt your head back and I'll do your neck."

He did so, following her instructions, feeling her move slightly so she was between his legs, close against him, warm and feminine and lovely.

"This seems very intimate."

"Almost as if we're a couple," She sat back, eyes shining. "Now, I'll go and get some hot water and the cloth, don't touch it, or lie back and get it on my cushions."

"Yes boss."

"You look beautiful now," she teased, getting to her feet. "Polished."

"Bugger off!"

"Ah! Language Mr Carson."

He gingerly touched the end of his nose, "I'm picking it up from you."

Charles sat back on the sofa, "What do you reckon then, who do you think did it?"

"Hmm, not sure yet, don't like the Dad much."

"Won't be him."

"How do you know?" She put the bowl of hot water down on a towel, and sat forward again, bidding him to do the same. "Sherlock."

"It's too obvious, it'll be someone we don't know yet."

"Bet it isn't."

"Bet it is," he chuckled, touching the loose strands of hair that hung around her forehead.

"How much do you wanna bet?" She asked, wiping the cream from his cheek.

"Real money?"

"Solid pound coins."

"Ten?" He suggested.

"Wimp." She rinsed the cloth, did the other side of his face.

"Twenty then."

"Okay, deal. End of this episode we'll both pick someone as murderer."

"Or I'll stick to the fact it's someone who hasn't arrived yet."

"I rather like that David Tennant though, a fellow Scot."

"From Glasgow isn't he?"

"A-ha, good accent."

"Doesn't look very strong, would possibly struggle to open a jar."

She laughed, "The measure of a man."

He glanced to the television, "Not very tall neither. Short and skinny. Bit different from me."

"He's hardly minute," she took a quick look at the screen, "I'd still date him."

"Thanks very much."

"I said date, as in have dinner," she patted his belly, "but I rather like having you to rest against."

He smiled at that, remembering her 'favourite spot.'

"There you go, all done."

"Do I look even more handsome?"

"Gorgeous," She placed a quick kiss to his lips. "Ooh forgot I've got to do mine." She wiped the cream from his forehead that had transferred. "Kinda missed you," she admitted, sitting so close to him.

He squeezed her upper arm, "Me too. Arguing is… I don't like it, bad feelings between us."

"Mmm, shall we finish this and go to bed?"

"I'm a bit tired actually," he huffed, running a hand through his hair.

"Oh whatever!" she slapped her hand against his chest and he caught hold of her waist. "Wipe that stuff off your face so I can kiss you."

They'd forgotten about the bet by the end of the episode. And left the lounge untidy – unwashed tea cups, used wine glasses, crumbs on the coffee table. A lot of things were forgotten that night, in between whispered words and snatched gasps of pleasure in her dark bedroom. It was the first time they'd made love without considering using protection.

* * *

 **Saturday 30** **th** **April**

"I'm assuming that I was instructed to come over here early in order to help."

"Well, that…" she lifted a large roasting dish down from a shelf, "…and I was hoping to have my wicked way with you at least once before our guests got here."

He draped his jacket over a kitchen chair, "Funny," and rolled his shirt sleeves up. "What would you like me to do?"

"I thought we might actually use my dining room tonight."

"I've never actually seen this dining room."

"It exists," she laid chicken breasts into the bottom of the dish. "And I thought you might set it, being the expert that you are."

He rested his hands on her hips, nuzzling the back of her neck, "Do I get a kiss first?"

"Mmm," she twisted her neck, quickly kissing him. "Hi."

"Hi. You going to show me where I need to go and what I need to do?"

"Just a sec, let me get this chicken in the oven."

He watched as she added things to the pot, how quickly she moved whilst doing it.

"Never thought of you as a cook."

"I'm far from it, but I like to try. My mother, and my Gran, were fabulous cooks and my…" she paused, shook her head and put the lid on the pot. "They baked mostly," she added, opening the oven and sliding the dish inside.

Charles watched her deal with whatever it was that bothered her, how quickly she pushed it away, he had his suspicions – he'd seen the pictures of her family around the lounge, he guessed the girl in the shots with her was her sister, but she never spoken of her. Not once.

"My Gran baked too," he said softly, "best pie crust I've ever had."

She chuckled, "That's quite a challenge." She dried her hands on a towel. "Okay, let me show you."

She touched his hand as she passed him and he followed her out of the kitchen, into the hallway and down the passageway, it was dark and he stuck close to her so he didn't bump himself.

Elsie pushed open the glass doors at the end of the hall, pressed the light switch on the wall by the door and he followed her into the room. It wasn't elaborate like the Crawley's, but it was bright and attractive. A rectangular glass table, big enough to seat ten. A white cabinet at one end with her glassware on display. French doors out to the garden, through which he could just see the sun setting.

"There's a table cloth in the bottom of that cupboard," Elsie pointed out. "Candles too, and the cutlery in these drawers, glasses here, as you can see."

Charles nodded, "You want me to set up just at this end?"

"That would be lovely" she squeezed his arm, "thank you sweetie."

"You're welcome, happy to help."

"I'll make you up a drink - G and T or would you prefer a whisky?"

Charles was already fussing with the cloth, "Erm, G and T would be nice for a change, plenty of ice please."

"Coming up."

* * *

Elsie was just finishing the gravy, and Charles telling her a hilarious story about some ridiculous couple he'd worked for, when the doorbell rang and the door immediately opened.

"In the kitchen," Elsie called, and Charles felt aggravated already by the fact the younger man had simply walked into the house - though clearly this fact didn't bother Elsie in the slightest.

"Hello darling," Tom kissed her cheek, his hand on her back, "Elsie-May."

"Hello," she turned in his arms, hugging him, returning the kiss. "Good to see you."

Charles watched, a strange feeling in his chest, the green-eyed monster lurking there as the pair in front of him held each other, genuine affection evident. He noted Tom's hand, widespread on Elsie's back. Her chin on his shoulder, her hands on his upper back.

And then he saw Sybil, coming in behind Tom and shock hit.

She was clearly pregnant, clearly, the silky dress she wore clinging to the tiny swell of her belly.

"Oh my God!" He blurted out, dropping the cutlery he'd been wrapping.

"Hi Uncle Charles," Sybil said, her voice sweet, timid. "How are you?"

"I'm…" he glanced at Elsie then back to the young girl, the girl who he'd held in his arms when she was only twelve hours old. A tiny little bird in his cradling hands. "You're…"

She pressed a hand to her stomach, "Yes, I am."

"Do your parents know?"

She nodded, "They do... as from today."

Charles stared at her; torn between a long list of questions and not wanting to know a thing. He felt himself shiver, his spine move, neck ache. When he didn't speak, and the discomfort grew, Elsie sprang to life.

"Hello Sybil dear," She said, moving between them and hugging the nervous girl. She rubbed her upper arms, holding her gaze, smiling warmly, "How are you?"

Sybil sucked in a tight breath, "Bit shaky, honestly. It wasn't nice."

"I can imagine. Try and forget about it hmm, tonight we'll just eat well and chat. Try to have fun."

"Thank you. You're very kind."

"Let me hang your coat up Sybs," Tom said, helping her out of it.

"Go sit in the lounge," Elsie instructed, "it's cosier in there. Would you like a soft drink?"

"Lemonade?"

"Clear or cloudy?"

"Ooh cloudy would be nice, and ice please."

"I'll bring it through, beer Tom?"

"You know me well," he said, leading Sybil through the house.

Elsie gave herself a second or two before she turned back to Charles and his stricken expression. "How you doing?"

"You already knew, didn't you?"

"Don't be angry with me about that, please." She said softly, moving close to him, but not touching him, not until she knew he was okay with her. "Tom confided, I told you it wasn't my secret to tell. I'm loyal Charles, if nothing else. I don't gossip."

He breathed deeply, his mouth forming into a pout. "This makes things damned awkward."

"I know. And I don't want you to feel uncomfortable, that's not what tonight was about." She rested her hands lightly on his arms, feeling the swell of his muscle beneath the shirt. "Sweetheart, I just want you to spend some time with them as a couple. You and me, Sybil and Tom. Get to know him, won't you, for me?"

She looked up at him so expectantly he knew he had no choice, he was lost, she'd got him completely hooked.

"I can't not talk to Robert about it."

"I know; I don't expect you to hide it. But I do ask that you be fair when you do."

He exhaled, grumpily she thought.

"Bloody kids, why can't they use protection?"

"Erm, may I remind you of last Wednesday night, when someone was in a hurry?"

"That's different, we're… and they're… It's different."

She kissed his cheek, "Of course it is. Stop fussing and take the cutlery through, we'll go through in fifteen minutes, have the starter."

"I need matches, for the candles."

She was already pouring drinks, simultaneously checking on the vegetables as she did so. "No idea where they are. I have a lighter I think in the top drawer by the door."

"Elsie-May?" He asked, as he searched.

"He does it to wind me up."

"How come you never told me, that that was your name?"

"Because I don't like it, and you never asked. Do you have a middle name?"

"Ernest, after my Mother's father. I hate it, he was a grumpy old sod, used to give me mints from his coat pocket with lint stuck to the wrapper."

Elsie laughed, "I can't think why they chose the name for you then."

"Elsie," he said forlornly, his body sagging as he gave up searching and shut the drawer, leaning against the counter top.

She went to him, opened the drawer again and located the lighter. "What's wrong?"

"Why are things so difficult?"

"They're only difficult if we make them so." She placed the lighter in his palm, pressing her hand against his and leaning up to kiss him deeply. "I know you're still…jealous, perhaps?"

"It's just odd to me, uncomfortable, that you and he…" He huffed again, "he knows his way around this house like it's his own."

She shook her head, "He isn't you. Just a good, old friend, that's all. I can't say it a million times Charles." She kissed him again. "He isn't you, it isn't 'us', so stop worrying on that score. And I know things are messy because of your friendship with Robert but just try and see that here we have two young people who are very much in love, and, more importantly, they're going to bring a child into this world Charles. And that makes everything else pale in comparison."

He nodded, sometimes she was so absolutely right it was difficult to know why she wasn't running the country.

"No more pouting tonight. We're going to have a good meal and good wine and enjoy each other's company. And later I'll even give you a facial before bed if you wish."

He hushed her, glancing over her head as if the people in the other room might hear. "Don't go spreading that around."

She was laughing as she turned from him, picking up the drinks and taking them through to their guests.

* * *

She had to admit it, Charles had done a decent job in the dining room. He was meticulous, she'd never seen half the cutlery he'd laid out, she didn't even know she owned it.

The meal was decent, nowhere near the quality the Crawleys served, but then she was only a part-time cook. Charles didn't seem to mind, his plates were all clear, Sybil only pecked at her food though. But she seemed happy enough.

"Will you find out the sex?" Elsie asked, nibbling on the mints she'd put in the centre of the table.

"I don't know, we haven't thought," Sybil glanced at Tom, placing her hand over his. "It'd be nice to know, plan the nursery and such."

"Oh yes," Elsie felt gleeful at that. "Which room will you use?"

"We thought the one, you know at the end, next to the spare room."

"The one you have your schoolboy games set up in?"

Sybil laughed, "I told him that!"

"It's a PS3, not a schoolboy game."

Charles watched the interaction with interest, the way Sybil leaned in to Tom, how his hand had moved to the neat little bump every now and then during dinner.

His head turned when he felt Elsie's fingers touch the edge of his shirt sleeve, watching as she absently toyed with it, her dark red nails against the pale blue of his shirt. Were they burgundy perhaps? He was never sure of accurate colour terms. Mauve?

She was laughing, he liked the sound of it.

"Do you think you'll marry?" He asked, and he felt Elsie's fingers close around his wrist. "Sorry, was that…? Sorry."

"No, it's fine, we will, I hope," Tom said brightly.

Sybil shrugged, "I've told him we ought not to rush, but he wants things to be done right."

"Almost right. I do want her to come to Ireland with me, visit my family, see where I'm from."

"Not to stay I hope though," Elsie said, reaching to take another mint.

"Not to stay –," Sybil said.

"Not for long, anyhow." Tom said, "We'll see."

"Don't do that," Charles said firmly, and all three turned to him. "I mean, I want to see the baby, know him or her, like I did you." He shrugged, "Bit like being a grandpa I suppose."

Elsie smiled, he was such a dear, sweet man all wrapped up in some grumpy over-sized frame.

"I won't deny you that Uncle Charlie," Sybil said before yawning and covering her mouth.

"You should get home," he said softly, his chest aching with affection for her. She was still so young, so sharp, intelligent, bright, beautiful. "If you need anything," he suddenly said, "then you just have to say, you know. Any time."

* * *

Charles leant over to blow out the candles, inhaling the strong, familiar fragrance – he must have done this hundreds of times over the years, more, thousands. He hadn't used a ruler for over a decade, he could do it by eye, see the lines from the tip of one knife to the other. It was nice, had been nice, setting up the dining table in her house. It seemed of late he was spending more and more time there, more time there than at his own flat.

Work had always been his focus, his beginning and end. He was driven and detailed, some would say finicky. But he had his way of doing things and it had worked so he stuck with it, he was rigid, had been harsh at times. He kept to himself mostly, there'd been the odd woman, but nothing serious, nothing real.

A long time ago he'd pretty much accepted he'd be alone. That in his old age his visitors would be his friend's daughters, and it was most likely he'd sell the business, live comfortably, not extravagant but well enough. It was just how things would be. He'd come to terms with that in his forties.

But there, in the semi-darkness of the room, he could hear Elsie in the kitchen; the stacking of the dishwasher, the way she hummed as she did it. She wasn't half bad at holding a tune.

He moved to the French doors, curious, wondering if they'd ever been opened. There was a key in the lock and he turned it, pressed heavily on the bolt by his feet and the one above his head until they gave in and the door squeakily edged forward.

The night air was cool but pleasantly so. For a moment or two he let it pass over him, closed his eyes, let the wisp of melted candle wax out and the fresh wave of night in.

Stepping outside, he glanced to the sky, clear and bright with stars; endless, infinity.

She had a table out there, four chairs, he could see the outline of plant pots, the edge of the low wall that led to the grass.

He shifted a chair, the metal scrape against the paving slabs harsh in the stillness, and sat.

The kitchen window overlooked the garden too, and she spotted him as she rinsed her hands. Opening the kitchen door she went out to join him, leaning over his shoulder, her breath warm on his cheek as she kissed him.

"Hello," she whispered.

"Hi."

"Why are you out here?"

"Fresh air."

She kissed him again, breathing in the delicious smell of him, "It's April you know."

"Almost May."

"A-ha, almost five months together."

He twisted slightly, "And…going well?"

"I think so," she pressed against his back, the cold metal of the chair against her stomach. "Don't you?"

"I'm a clumsy old fool at times," he said knowingly. "Wasn't too bad tonight though, was I? Didn't embarrass you?"

"Not for a second," her fingers climbed up the buttons of his shirt, to the open collar, the soft skin. "You were very sweet to Sybil."

"She's always been an angel, I just wanted to be sure, you know, about Tom."

"And are you?"

"Getting there. Not going to go 100% crackers for him immediately."

She giggled, "That's good enough, a start." Her fingers moved again, up around his collar, the warmth of his neck against her fingertips. "Your neck is huge," she said, "I bet I couldn't get one hand around it."

He chuckled, "Thank bloody hell for that. Get me worried."

She kissed the top of his hand, ruffled his hair with her chin, "Are we staying out here, I'm shivering?"

"We'll go in."

"I drank too much, and ate too much, I need some peppermint tea before I sleep." She yawned, "Oh and a nice lie in tomorrow morning, snuggled up with you."

He reached up, pressed his hand on top of hers. "Be nice actually, won't it, having a baby around?"

"I suppose so, I don't have that much experience with them, not really. I guess I'll have to wise up – what with Ethel working for me and her own Charlie."

"Bound to be a good kid with a name like that."

"Oh, absolutely. And you think Robert will get used to it? Being a grandpa?"

"He'll love it, when his anger subsides. And Cora will be ecstatic."

"Mmm, children, everyone always tells you that life is incomplete without them."

He closed his eyes, leaned his back against her chest, "You asked me that didn't you, once, whether I would've wanted children?"

"Did I?"

"Yes. I didn't respond. I remember it quite well."

Elsie felt the hairs on her arm stand up as the breeze slipped over them, her skin standing to attention.

"And? Did you have an answer?"

"The thing is, I had my chance, once, and I let it go."

She lowered her voice, a gentle whisper, "In what way?"

"I have a son, Elsie."

* * *

 _Would love to know what you think..._


	15. Chapter 15

_Let's get straight back to it... if you remember, last time we ended with them in her garden in the evening, following dinner with Tom and Sybil._

* * *

 **Chapter 15**

 **Saturday 30** **th** **April**

"I have a son, Elsie."

For a good minute she's silent, remaining in the same spot leaning over him, she knows his eyes are closed, that his breathing is deep and slow. She feels his body shiver against hers and presses herself closer to him feeling simultaneously protective and comforting. It's a new side of her, this mothering, caring side. Nobody has ever made her feel this way before, and it's been quite enlightening, discovering it, digging down and finding she does indeed have this warm core just waiting for the right person to unlock.

"Let's go to bed," she whispers. Because it seems the right solution in the present moment.

She's quite sure he doesn't want to discuss it further, and she isn't exactly sure what she's meant to say anyway.

Something about having Sybil there and seeing her pregnant has stirred something in him – producing opposing reactions; he's clearly opened up to her, but at the same time he seems distant, folding in on himself, shutting away. Keeping his eyes closed is perhaps one way to do that. Sitting outside in the dark another.

She slides her arms from his shoulders, takes his hand firmly in hers and tugs it until he stands, following silently.

He undresses in silence as she locks up downstairs. Gets into bed and settles himself (on his pillow) as she turns off the lights and climbs the stairs to bed. Then he watches, the light of her bedside lamp illuminating the room, as she undresses, takes off her make-up, ties up her hair; he finds her ritual relaxing, finds it brings contentment to feel part of it.

There are no words when she climbs in beside him, turns off the lamp and snuggles down beneath the sheets. She moves against his side until he lifts his arm, allows her to move her head to his chest. There is contentment in this too. They're a pair now. Two halves of one whole.

She presses a kiss to his skin, feels his heartbeat against her cheek, "Don't worry," she whispers and kisses him again. He soon sleeps.

* * *

 **Sunday 1** **st** **May**

Elsie wakes early, surprised to find Charles still sleeping beside her. Deeply asleep, snoring, the bedsheets down around his waist, his arms lying atop of the sheets. He looks comfortable and she's glad of that as she heard him get up several times in the night.

She shifts to the other side of the bed, the bedsheets cool there, and moves onto her back. Sunday morning and all is quiet. The very air seems still, tranquil and she wonders for a moment what the rest of the world is doing.

The mornings are bright now, and as a result she can't return to sleep, despite the early hour. She slips out of bed without disturbing Charles, pulls on her robe and tiptoes downstairs.

After making a pot of tea she goes outside to sit. There's a tiny bird on the lawn, hopping about, no doubt searching for worms, and she watches it as she pours her tea and sits back to drink it.

It's cool, not quite summer, but the daffodils have already had their time and other flowers are making a bid to occupy the space. The cherry blossom is full on the taller trees at the back of the garden, and the grass showered with pink and white confetti; the Laburnum is beginning to bloom and she feels an odd sense of pride at how beautiful they look. Despite her formative years on the farm, Elsie had never been much of a gardener, but these days she takes much joy from the planting and tending of flowers, to the care and attention she gives her garden. Especially this time of year, when all of life is in bloom.

Setting her empty teacup aside she takes the steps up to the lawn, walks around the edge picking the dead heads off the daffodils. The tiny bird stills for a moment or two, cocks its head to the side as it watches her, weighing up whether she's a threat or not. Elsie is sure to keep a discreet distance between them and it soon resumes its search for breakfast.

When she turns to return to the patio area, handfuls of dead petals scrunched in her hands, Charles is occupying the seat she vacated.

She smiles at him; he is in pyjamas and his robe and his hair is sticking up at odd angles and it occurs to her, as she walks towards him, that this is 'her man' and he's nothing at all like the man she thought she'd end up with.

"Good morning," she says gently, keenly aware of the still early hour. "I didn't think you'd be up for a while."

"I realised I was alone," he says, watching as she drops the leaves into her fire pit.

"Ah, my fault then," she brushes her hands on her robe, leans down to kiss his cheek. "I apologise."

"Mmm, it was nice, watching you garden, especially in your pyjamas."

She rolls her eyes, "I don't always have the time, but the morning was so fresh and…" she smiles, "bright." His eyes seem sad, worried, and she places a hand to his cheek. "Let me make you some breakfast, a fresh pot of tea."

"You don't have to."

"I want to, you're my _boyfriend_ after all," she teases, "and besides, I think you want to talk and we can't really do that on empty stomachs."

"Perhaps not."

She puts bacon on, toasts bagels, takes it outside with fresh tea and cream cheese; she's never been so domesticated.

"Now, I know you don't like your bacon super crispy but believe me, it goes well with the bagels, and plenty of cream cheese."

"I'll take your word for it."

She makes his up for him as he pours the tea, and it seems rather nice, sweet even, to be sitting in the garden having breakfast together on a Sunday morning. Were it not for the overhanging questions from last night, or his obvious unease at having revealed the information.

"You know, I don't, or won't, judge, don't you?"

He looks up, still chewing, swallows awkwardly and reaches for his tea.

"Lord knows I understand how life can go in a direction you didn't plan, Charles, hence me finding myself flat on my back in a barn with a man old enough to be my father." She reaches across to touch his hand, "I would never judge because I don't want the same done to me. And you never did. You just listened, and so would I."

"Thank you, the thing is, I don't think you'll judge, not at all. I think, actually, you're probably the most liberal minded person I've ever met. It's not that." He put his half eaten bagel down – she was right, of course, the crispy bacon made it. "I've never told anybody before, that's the thing. Only myself and the boy's mother know. And it was quite a shock, to find myself saying the words to you."

"What do you worry about then? That I'll go telling?"

He shook his head, leant forward, his shoulders hunched, the table seeming tiny in front of his imposing frame.

"That I'll see you differently?" She deliberately lifted his hand, threaded her fingers around his. "That won't happen either. I'm not one for sentiments Charles, but I've developed quite an affection for you." He looked up at her then, his face close to hers. "And that's as close as you're getting to any outpourings of emotion from me."

"It was nice."

She smiled again, shaking his hand. "Finish your breakfast, if you want to tell me more you will, if you don't, then that's fine also."

He breathed in through his nose, sitting back, lifting the bagel again, watching as she refilled their tea.

"We should go somewhere today," she stated, "the weather is good."

"I thought you had some work to do, it being the start of a new month."

"I do. But it's too nice a Sunday to waste, and besides, I want to spend time with you. So, let's go somewhere, in fact no, no asking, I'm _taking_ you somewhere."

He chuckled, "No decisions on my part?"

"No. Only what you're going to wear." She pushed her chair back, suddenly energised. "It's not even nine yet, that's early for a Sunday, if we get going in the next half hour the traffic might not be too bad."

* * *

She took the M1 and drove to Bakewell. Traffic wasn't bad and by the time they'd left the motorway they were into countryside anyhow so it didn't seem to matter. The sky was cloudy but it was warm, and, most importantly, there was no rain so they could walk about the pretty town.

Charles had always been the decision maker so it was rather nice to have somebody taking charge; his mood was spectacularly low but having her there – mindful of him, not pushing – somehow took the edge off it.

She paid the parking, put a ticket in the windscreen, and set off towards one of the bridges that crossed over the River Wye and into the market town. They lingered, leaning on the bridge and watching the ducks, listening to children squabble and families plan their days. Groups sat along the wall beside the water eating fish and chips, and the noise of it, the distraction, was comforting to him.

"How many times you been here?" He asked as they walked along the cobbled back streets.

"A few, I like the 'feel' of the place."

"And Bakewell pudding?"

"I'm more of a Bakewell tart girl myself, there's a shop that does an amazing lemon one actually. But I could be persuaded, if need be."

He tucked her arm through his, "Can we visit the original shop?"

"Of course, we'll take some home with us."

He focuses on how she uses the word 'home' as if it's a singular thing – one home, somewhere they're making together.

"You want to find somewhere for Sunday lunch? It _is_ your favourite meal of the week."

"Very true, how well you know me Ms Hughes."

"I'm a quick learner."

He stopped as she continued, jerking her back, and she turned, wide-eyed. "What?"

"You're an absolute darling, do you realise that?"

She smiled, shaking her head, turning to face him, "I can't believe you _just_ realised that?"

"Do you remember," he's pulling her close to him, his hands settling on her waist, "when I saw you at that party, I mean after meeting outside…when you came down the stairs, do you remember?"

"I remember how you looked me up and down."

He actually blushed, "I'm not usually so forward, it was probably the drink."

"Or you being bowled over," there's an edge to her voice as she teases him, her accent curling deliciously over the 'bs' and the 'w'.

He leans in, her scent wonderfully familiar now, her loose hair blowing into his face.

She places a hand to his chest, "We shouldn't kiss in public, two old cronies."

"Bugger what anyone thinks," he said against her lips, kissing her anyhow. "Sorry for being so grumpy this morning."

"I don't mind that."

Somehow, he seems to pull her even closer, "We didn't, _you know_ ; second Sunday in a row."

"Are you keeping a scorecard?"

"Just an observation, I like our lazy Sunday mornings in bed, that's all."

"Well perhaps you'll be in a better mood tonight."

"I'm staying, am I? On a Sunday night?"

She shrugs, fiddling with his shirt collar, "Just a suggestion. Come on, let's go find a pub, I'm starving and really need to pee."

"Bloody women and the need for toilets."

* * *

They sit outside, beneath an umbrella by the water. The sunshine has made a bit of a break through the overcast sky and Charles watched the light chase over the silky top of the water. It isn't warm really, 13 degrees, which for England _is_ warm, he supposes, and Charles is donning his sunglasses and enjoying being outdoors. And enjoying even more the company he's keeping.

Elsie hasn't taken her jacket off; her legs are crossed at the ankle beneath the table and he can feel her foot tapping as occasionally the tip of her shoe hits his leg.

She has her glasses on to look at the menu, and he watches as she reads each and every item thoroughly – his decision was made before they even sat down.

"I think I'll have the salmon," she finally says.

"You are kidding me?"

She looks over the top of her glasses at him, "What?"

"It's Sunday. There's Sunday roast."

"So?"

" _Soooo_ …. It's Sunday roast."

She's shaking her head as she slides her glasses off and folds her menu, "It isn't British law."

"It bloody well should be," He pushes his chair back, his stomach growling from the gorgeous smell of pork and roast potatoes. "So, Salmon, are there options with it?"

"I don't think so," she smiles sweetly at him. "And get a bottle of Rosé and some lemonade so I can have a spritzer."

"You're not going to drink an entire bottle of wine; you're driving."

"And… we can take it with us, keep the lid, the top," she mimes screwing it back on.

"You make things difficult."

"I'm female. It came in the box with my instructions."

When he's ordered and brought over the wine, though he insists drinking 'pink wine' is not at all becoming of him, they rearrange their seats so they can sit side-by-side overlooking the water.

"So, I saw a shop as we came, up this…" she strains behind her, trying to point towards where she thinks the road is, "…street, it had the most gorgeous scarves in the window, you think we might pop in after lunch?"

Charles sucks in a tight breath, "Ooh I don't know, tough ask. I mean, you did cook last night, and clean up, and make me breakfast AND bring me out to this beautiful place. Explain to me what you've done to deserve a scarf, of all things!"

His smile is wonderful and she leans in, kissing him, one hand on his face the other finding his hand on the table.

"We can wander all afternoon," he says, his voice gentle now. "If that's what you want."

"Thank you," she keeps hold of his hand as she sips her wine. "And how are you feeling about Tom and Sybil now?"

"Slightly less concerned," he said, watching her slender fingers sliding between his tree-trunk ones, turning over his hand, nails tickling his palm. "Like I don't want to interfere. Or be in the middle."

"That's all I ask."

"I like an easy life, a quiet life. For things to just tick along."

"I can understand that, you've earned it," she said, glancing down at their hands. "Look how large your hands are, no wonder Alfie thinks you're a giant. In his head you probably go around pulling up trees, dangling them by the roots."

"Don't entertain these ideas," he chuckled, "he's such a character."

"You really love him, don't you?"

"He's a great kid," he reached for his wine, "I like spending time with him, makes me feel young." He took a long drink, "Everything's so simple to him, straightforward."

"He's got more energy than most of the people in your life, that's for sure."

"A-ha…" He swirled his wine in his glass.

"Anddd, do you think somehow having this 'thing' with him is somehow –,"

"Let's not do that here."

"Oh, okay."

"I'm not being rude, we will talk about it, just not here…"

"Alright. That's fine," she changed mode, "so, I'm thinking of getting a new car."

"You are?"

"I am, I've had mine a few years now and I think I'm ready for an upgrade."

He appreciated how quickly, and easily, she could alter the tone of the conversation, "You got anything in mind?"

"Of course, something fabulous and gorgeous," she dug around in her handbag for her phone, "I have a picture. Or pictures… wait, a text from Beryl." She scanned it, typed a reply in about ten seconds.

"You're like a teenager with that thing. It takes me an age just to get the keyboard working."

"Just telling her where we are. Okay, here, look…" She flashed the phone in front of him, "I rather like this colour."

"Wait, need my glasses," he scrabbled in his jacket pocket. "Right, let me see again."

"This colour too."

"My god it's a sport's car."

"It is not!" She flicked through the photos for him.

"It is, look at that, are you having one of those, with the roof down?"

"Yes."

"We live in England, you know."

"And… we could've driven here today with the roof down."

"That colour's nice," He pointed at the screen.

"I like that one, _Indium grey metallic_ , kinda sexy."

"Elsie Hughes in a Mercedes, hey."

"I know," she closed her phone. "Does it seem extravagant? We didn't even have a car for the first seven years of my life, we went everywhere in the truck."

"Look if you can afford it then do it, you earned the money."

"Mmm, I know what my father would think if I drove up in it."

Charles took the opportunity, "How is your father?"

She closed her phone, pushed it back into her bag. "Fine, I believe."

"Do you, erm, go up and see him every now and then. Go up to Scotland?"

"Not very often," she toyed with her napkin, turning it over on the table.

"When did you last go?"

She shook the napkin, spread it over her lap, "A while ago."

"You ever miss home?"

She shrugged, "Not especially. Did you, when you were away?"

"Sometimes, I missed my parents."

She nodded, "You were close to your father though. Did you talk to him, when you were away?"

"Once a week, sometimes more depending on what was happening. Do you?"

Elsie looked over his head, past him to the view, "I try to call sometimes, it's very… it can be awkward. He doesn't especially want to talk to me. Perhaps it used to be slightly better, when my mother was around, but even then it was frosty at the best of times."

The conversation stalled when their lunch arrived and Charles set about shaking salt on the vegetables, much to Elsie's chagrin.

"That's the healthy bit, you know."

"Healthy, pah!" He waggled his eyebrows at her, "You wanna go for cake later? Some nice tearoom with homemade stuff?"

"I like how you're planning ahead; we haven't even eaten this yet."

"I need to know for when they hand the dessert menu around."

"Oh I see! Cake later sounds fine; though didn't you want Bakewell pudding?"

"We can take that home, you offered, don't go taking it back now." He waved his fork at her.

"You're like a child with desserts. Any sweet things actually, I've noticed."

"Which is why I must like you," he leant across and kissed her cheek, "you taste sweet."

"I'm not sure if you're being 'cute' or 'dirty' with me here."

"I don't know what you mean…" he said, eyes wide and genuinely innocent.

"Never mind. Eat your dinner." She shook her head at him as he did just that.

She got two scarves, which Charles dutifully carried about in the orange paper bag they'd packed them in.

As she waited to pay she watched him wander around the small shop; the way he tried to manoeuvre his way between shelves without knocking anything over. Sometimes he leant forward slightly, she'd noticed that, bowed his head, slumped his shoulders, keenly aware of his own height. She wondered if he'd developed the habit as a child.

When she was a child she found ways to hide away, how to slip behind people or divert their attention. She never really liked having attention; that confidence came much later in life. Perhaps that was why she fell so completely for Geoffrey, because he noticed her, he saw her. Even in the midst of the busy farming community.

Charles turned, hands in pockets, and saw her looking. He smiled warmly, his eyes crinkling at the edges. How handsome he was, quite often she overlooked that, it was all of his other qualities that she'd fallen for first.

He waited by the door for her, took the gift bag from her hand, pushing open the door ahead of her, letting her go out before him.

"You want to do something in the week? Go see a film or something, Wednesday, maybe?" She asked, surprising herself with the need to see him again so soon.

"Well, Wednesday is going to be busy for me, I might be free, not sure."

"You're not…" she hooked her arm through his again, falling into step beside him, "…sure? What exciting thing are you doing?"

"You'll be annoyed if I tell you."

She twisted slightly on his arm, tugging it as she turned towards him, "Are you dating somebody else?"

He laughed, "Yes, it's one of my _many_ dates."

"I would hurt you, you do know that, don't you?"

"I'm flattered you care."

"Well, I'm not usually over protective, but…"

" _But_!" He said deeply, eyes narrowed towards her.

"Stop digging – tell me the annoying news."

"Well, I'm actually having new carpets fitted."

It takes her a second but then she swung round on his arm, putting a stop to their walk, "You're kidding me?!"

He shook his head, pulling (what he hopes) is a comical face.

" _You're_ getting new carpets?"

He nods, a smile on his face.

"Because of the wine?"

He nods again, "Not _just_ that though, of course, they've been down a few years though so you know…"

"You're unbelievable."

"Are you angry?"

"No, I'm not angry," she started walking again, pulling him with her. "Just," she laughs aloud as she reflects on it, "I'm just learning more about you."

"What did you learn?"

"You don't like mess but you're not really a fan of confrontation neither."

"True, but I am honest. I didn't lie, I just didn't tell you."

"Oh and you're just like other men, finds a way to get himself out of trouble."

This time he laughed, "Yeah, yeah. Let's do man bashing later shall we."

"Ooh, let's go in there," she pointed towards a shop with a large window display – kitchenware, a turquoise colour scheme, a gingham style apron.

"Pots and pans?"

"They'll have cute little kitchen gadgets, and its Beryl's birthday coming up, we might see something for her."

He focuses on the 'we' of her statement as she heads inside the shop – suddenly, not only are they a couple getting used to being a couple, but they're buying gifts together too. He's not quite sure how he feels about that, but then his feelings have been so up and down since the awkward dinner at the Crawleys'.

"Won't she think it odd?" He whispers by her ear as she opens drawers and takes out brightly coloured utensils.

"Think what odd?"

"That we send a gift from the two of us?"

She senses something in his voice and it makes her stomach clench slightly, she puts the orange spoon back down.

"Well, I just…" she's smiling when she turns, her chest close to his, "it was a slip of the tongue," she touches his arm, "nothing more," and pushes past him.

She buys a hand carved book stand – the letters B.A.K.E formed into a square, the wood has shades of colour to it that seem to change as she moves it and she likes that, it seems unique.

The weather has turned slightly by the time they get back outside and she shivers and glances to her watch.

"Almost four," she says, "if you want your pudding we best go now."

"Alright."

"Then I can drive you home."

"Oh, I thought I was staying."

"If you want," she presses the button on the crossing, waiting for the lights to change.

He stands behind her, her hair blowing up again and whipping his face. There are people around them, it's still busy despite the time, and he wonders how they see them, if they view them as a couple, as married perhaps, probably for years with children and a dog at home and approaching retirement.

Charles reaches for her hand, closes his around it as they start to cross.

"The pudding shop is around the corner, not far, two or three minutes," she says.

"Look, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you."

"Over what?"

"The gift thing, it just slipped out."

"It's fine."

"You're obviously a bit… I just don't know her that well, you see."

"I said it's fine."

"Elsie."

"I hate people who argue in public," she says as they squeeze along a slim section of pavement.

"We're not arguing," he says lightly, "we're discussing."

"It just came across as sharp, that's all."

"I might come across as sharp but it wasn't intended that way."

"Your tone can be snappish."

"Snappish?"

"Just… it's fine, I'll just put my name on the gift tag."

He squeezes her hand, "I want you to put mine too, if she won't think I'm being presumptuous, intruding. It's been five months."

She groaned, "Sometimes it feels like years," and came to a stop. "Here's your shop."

"Oh. You coming in?"

"But should we go in together? We don't want people to think we're dating," She teased.

He shook his head, "I certainly don't want people thinking you're single, they might covet you."

"Are you 56 or 76?"

"Probably closer to 86 actually, and still chalking up the mistakes."

She sighed, her shoulders slumping, "We both do. Still finding our way, I guess; humans very rarely move in sync."

He smiles, presses his hand to the base of her back as she precedes him into the shop – they do move in sync at times, he reflects, usually when they're naked and in her bed. He'd stopped having such flyaway erotic thoughts years ago, funny how quickly she's stirred them again.

"Which one do you want?" She asks innocently, looking into the glass counter. "That large one I'm guessing."

As she bends her trousers pull across her bottom and the only real thing he can think about at that precise moment is making love to her, making her call his name in that wonderful tone she has, touching her in such ways that take away all his doubts and confusion as to where this might go.

"Charles?" She looks back at him, "Well?"

"You pick. Get that lemon thing you wanted too."

She moves back from the counter, letting others into her place and standing closer to him, "They don't have that in here. You're distracted."

He raises his eyebrows, "You're distracting."

"One minute he's keeping me at arm's length the next…"

He leans forward, whispering by her ear, "Picturing your legs wrapped around me."

She doesn't blush easily, but when she looks at him again there's definite colour in her cheeks, a sparkle in her eyes, "Let's get this and go home, hey."

"Good idea. The lemon thing?"

"It's in a shop as we head back to the car park, they have Peak Pasties too, you should definitely try one."

* * *

Charles watched in amusement as Elsie kicked off her shoes inside the door, dropped her shopping bags to the floor and sagged in exhaustion.

"I need a cup of tea," she said, "you want one?"

"Sure. I can do it, you drove."

"Well, you of course have a job to do," she opened the door of the small cupboard under the stairs, "let me find you the hoover."

"In the dark?" He said, hanging his coat.

"I told you if you ate that pasty in the car," she pulled the hoover out, waving it at him, "you'd be cleaning up the crumbs."

"Stop waving that hoover's appendage about and come here."

She laughed, dropping the hoover, "Appendage!"

Charles groaned as he hugged her, kissing her head, "Great day. Thank you."

"You're very welcome," she lifted her head up, smiling before she kissed him. "So, tea, and I need a shower."

"I need a shower too. Your house, you go first."

"What a gent. Seriously, I'm going to be a good fifteen minutes getting myself together before I make it upstairs. You know where things are, you go."

"I don't know what you mean by 'getting it together' but…" He kissed her forehead, "I'll be out in ten and in bed."

"Eager?"

"Exhausted."

She patted his bottom as he started up the stairs.

* * *

Carrying a tray up some time later, Elsie put down their tea on the bedside table. The drone of the shower was still going so she undressed in the bedroom, set the alarm on her phone and placed it on the cabinet by the bed before making her way into the bathroom.

The room was steamy, warm and welcoming and smelled of Charles' aftershave.

Elsie passed the shower, listening as he hummed to himself in his baritone, and stood in front of the mirror to smother her face in cream.

"Those fingers in my hair, that sly come hither stare, that strips my conscience bare, it's witchcraft…"

She giggled to herself as he sang, his voice rumbling over the words, his large body filling the rectangular shower cubicle.

Feeling mischievous, she wiped the cream from her face and eased open the shower door.

Charles didn't notice at first when she laid her hand flat on his back, it wasn't until she stepped in behind him and pressed her breasts against his back, that he realised he wasn't alone.

"Sorry," he spluttered, half turning, "I lost track. I'll get out now."

"That wasn't what I had in mind," she said seductively, hands sliding around his soapy torso as she stood tall and leant up to kiss him.

He mumbled into her mouth, slow at first on the uptake, "This isn't… how I usually spend… Sunday nights."

"Shut up and make the most of it," Elsie said, sliding around the side of him to be beneath the spray of warm water.

She closed her eyes, dropped her head back and let the water slide down her neck, over her breasts, her belly, between her legs.

Charles followed the path of each and every drop; let his fingertips ghost down the edges of her body, marvelled at her beautiful form.

She leant back further, her head against the tiles, the spray missing her face but continuing down her body. Eyes open, she watched his face as his fingertips drifted over her hips, across her stomach, up the centre of her body, a palm under her right breast, the other flat on the wall now as he supported himself.

She licked the water from her lips, lifted her arm and watched languidly as her hand moved to his chest, down his belly to the growing erection. It made her smile and he looked sharply at her.

"You shouldn't laugh at a moment like this," he said, his voice thick.

"I wasn't laughing; I was smiling…"

"That's as bad."

Her eyebrows rose, lips pursed as she stood straight again, pressed her free hand against his shoulder, "I was thinking about how badly I misjudged you."

"When?" Her mouth is mere inches from his and he wants to taste her kiss, lift her body up and make it part of his.

"When we first met, I thought," she placed a kiss to his collarbone, "about how I never go for older men."

She felt his hands heavy on her shoulders, heard the gasp of breath as her hand moved back, forth. "I see…" He did his best to keep the tremble from his voice. "Can't live up to your high standards?"

She kissed her way across his clavicle, "Something like that."

This time she gasped when he gripped her hips, lifted her up suddenly and pressed her back against the tiled wall – the cool, hard exterior delicious against her bottom.

He shook his head at her, "Making judgements Ms Hughes, you're not supposed to be the kind."

Elsie dragged her heel up the back of his leg, "Even _I'm_ not absolute perfection."

He glanced down between their bodies, "Oh, I don't know."

She smiled, lifting one hand to his mouth, her thumb moving across his bottom lip. Her other hand stroking through his damp hair, tugging on the strands until he turned his head and nipped on her thumb.

"Ow," she playfully dug her nails into the back of his neck as revenge but he kissed down inside of her arm, delighting in how soft and silky her skin was, emphasised even more by the water.

"Freckles galore," he whispered, and she lifted her arm as he got closer to her wrist and kissed the palm of her hand.

When Charles moved to kiss her again she slipped down, squeezing around him to find the wash, and he knocked his arm against the wall as he tried to turn and watch her.

"Careful."

"I'm too big for these things."

She pressed him back against the wall, "Stop moving."

"Yes boss," he rubbed at his sore elbow, watching as she squeezed the pink-coloured gel onto his chest. "Is this girly stuff?"

She sniggered, "Does it matter?"

"Not right at this moment."

She washed him slowly and carefully, as much about the intimacy of the act as the eroticism of it. She turned him, enjoyed massaging his back, feeling the movement of his muscles beneath her hands, the smooth skin, evident in age but no less beautiful.

When she'd finished, he kissed her hotly, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, his hands on her body – grasping at her, needing her.

Elsie pulled back, eyes heavy with pleasure, yet she delayed the moment, turning her back on him and leaning directly beneath the water again; her hands flat against the wall.

Charles took the signal – it was his turn to worship her.

He poured the wash at the base of neck, the top of her spine, let it work its way slowly down before he even placed a hand on her.

To his credit, despite his age, the long day and how incredibly turned on he was, he somehow managed to take his time. From the gentle sighs coming from her she clearly enjoyed the attention, and he took even more pleasure from knowing she was. Neither of them were perfect; they were over fifty, they were ordinary, they'd lived life, but she was like some goddess in that moment. The curve of her hips, the shape of her thighs, the way her breasts wobbled whenever she turned or bent or leant into him. And her wonderful firm bottom that his hands couldn't seem to keep away from.

"This is painful," he whispered by her ear.

She turned, mouth seeking his, hands moving over him, touching him wherever she could. Sometimes his bulk seemed so that she couldn't get her arms all the way around him; but there was something exciting in that too, how strong he was, how imposing, it made her feel quite proud to walk beside him when they were out. She enjoyed the way he filled her bed, or how he looked lounging on her sofa. For the way he held her hand, or placed his on the base of her spine as she preceded him somewhere.

He made her feel safe. And that was quite a new sensation with a man.

Charles reached behind her, turning the faucet and the steady stream of hot water suddenly stopped. "Let me take you to bed," he said against her mouth, his breath hot, fevered.

"You'll wet the sheets."

He smirked at her deliberately leading statement and she kissed his chin, rubbing the tip of her nose along the stubble.

His face is close to hers, his erection throbbing between them, and he can't hide the element of pleading from his voice, "Elsie…" and the fact he feels he'll collapse if he doesn't have her soon.

She looks up at him, wide-eyed, deliberately biting her bottom lip, pulling her teeth across it very slowly as he watches, "Charles…"

Two minutes later he found himself flat on his back on the bathroom floor with Elsie on top of him and he didn't care quite so much about how this woman was going to be the death of him.

* * *

It's after one before they're sated – sharing his pillow, face-to-face, still now and warm in the delicious afterglow of shared orgasms.

"So, you really have to work tomorrow?" he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

Elsie is quite sure that the sleepy, serene smile hasn't shifted from his face for hours now – and there's a certain sense of pride in that, not grandiose smugness, just certainty that he couldn't be any more satisfied.

"I'm afraid so," she trailed her fingertips down his arm, from shoulder to wrist and then back up again. "I don't think I'll be at my desk at 8 though, going on the current time. I need at least seven hours solid sleep."

"I might get you for breakfast then?"

She giggled – feminine, girlish, "I think you need to rephrase that."

His eyes narrowed for a second and then he shook his head, "Oh right. Oops."

"Endearingly clueless."

"Not so much," he pinched her bottom above the sheets, "can I have breakfast _with_ you?"

"If you're awake when I'm awake, if not feel free to help yourself to anything… use the shower, you know, maybe actually shower."

"I preferred the couple shower."

"I'm sure you did," she kissed his arm, his chest, up to his mouth again. Again and again. She couldn't recall ever feeling the need to kiss somebody so completely before.

"Thank you for today, this is the kind of Sunday I enjoy."

"Me too, the kind of Sundays with no other demands other than relaxing and enjoying… no ironing, no hoovering."

"Tidying, organising…"

"Changing carpets!" She laughed.

"Yeah, just you be careful when you come over to see my new carpets."

"I'm invited? I've noticed, suspiciously, that we spend most of our time here now."

He laughed again, sliding his hand down beneath the sheets and lifting her leg over his, "You come over any time you want gorgeous."

"I'll remember that." She wiggled against him, "So, did you want to talk about last night?"

He pursed his lips, frowning – a look she was beginning to recognise on him, a clear sign he was uncomfortable. "I've never told anybody."

She nodded, "I understand that.

"Just… kept it to myself, just as she did, as she has."

"Why tell me?"

He shrugged, "I trust you, simple as that."

There was a different sense of pride in that, "I suppose something with Sybil made you feel… I don't know, compelled to tell me?"

"It made me reflect on things. I've been doing that a lot of late, last couple of years since I slowed down business wise, it gives you time to think."

"I need to work till I die then."

He smiled, "He's thirty soon too, that's been on my mind. It seems a milestone, turning thirty."

"So, you were twenty-six when he was born?"

Charles nodded, "Almost twenty-seven. I didn't know for sure though until he was sixteen."

Elsie frowned, "Why?"

"Because she was obviously married to Charlie and it was a drunken night where she finally indulged this soppy idiot who'd mooned after her for decades. And then I flew back to Greece for work, and the next thing I know four months later Charlie emails to say she's pregnant again, their second baby. And you know for a while I didn't even twig, so dumb am I. Then I started putting dates together and wondering. Of course she wouldn't talk to me, ignored my calls."

"That's helpful."

"The next time I was in London I took an overnight trip, train straight up to York, went to their house unannounced. She's petrified I was going to blurt it out, but I'd never have done that, hurt any of them that way; they were a family, still are."

"She agreed to talk to you?"

"She met me the next day for a coffee, insisted it was his not mine, begged me to let it be. And I was so much in love with her I agreed – I would've agreed to move to the other side of the world with her if she'd asked."

"Do you still love her?"

"Maybe, in a way." He closed his eyes, breathed deeply, "I sometimes wonder if I'll ever stop."

She felt his words like somebody had kicked her in the chest; it was the first time she'd felt physically ill over such a thing since she was twenty-one years old and fleeing London and a shady lover.

"When he turned sixteen they had a party and I was in the country so I went. The kid reminded me so much of me, not especially in looks but just the way he held himself, his interests, his manner." He paused again, his hand heavy on her hip, hot even through the blanket. "They'd had a girl by then too and I was watching the three of them and Alice and thinking god how different life could've been for me."

"Would you have wanted it to be?"

"I don't know, maybe, sometimes." He stared at her, how clear her eyes seemed even in the darkness of the bedroom. "I asked her then for confirmation, I don't know what suddenly made me so brave but I told her she needed to put my mind at rest otherwise… well, I'm not sure if I'd have gone through with telling Charlie everything but still, I must've scared her because she did indeed do a DNA test and I gave blood and lo and behold he's mine."

"And then what? After sixteen years of wondering? I mean it's different for her, she had a family unit, you were… on your own?"

"I think I was dating then, Adelina, beautiful French girl I met…"

"Don't tell me anymore about her," Elsie said, holding her hand up, "just her name makes me think she was perfect."

He smiled, brushing his hand over her hip, "Not a patch on you. She was very proper and correct, I liked that."

"Why did you split up?"

"I don't think either of our hearts were in it, not really, it lacked that thing, you know, that centre. Passion and all that."

She nodded, biting her lip, "And we don't?"

"Christ no! I'm having the best sex of my life!"

She laughed at his outburst and he blushed, dipping his chin down, his voice low, "My only concern is that I don't live up to your past experiences."

"You have no worries on that score, if age has taught me anything it's that sex is about far more than just the physical."

He nodded, leaving her words – heavy with meaning and insinuation – hanging in the air.

Elsie yawned, covering her mouth and shaking her head, "Sorry, long day. Go on, about when you found out."

"I don't think I slept for three weeks," he admitted, "going through every scenario. But I kept coming back to them as a family, and questioning who I was to take that away?"

She thought about him being alone, about him wanting to be a parent and not being allowed, about how good a father he would've made. "And Alice… what did she do?"

"She sent me two pictures actually, week or so after his birthday party. One of me with Charlie and the kids, and one of her and Charlie and…their son."

"Your son."

Charles nodded, "Biologically. But I'm just a friend to him, a distant uncle at best. Some stuffy old friend of his parents who turns up at events every now and then."

"What's his name?" She asked.

"William."

"Oh my goodness! Like your father?"

"I don't think that was intentional, just… you know…"

"Fate?"

He closed his eyes, and she curled in closer to him, nudging his legs with her knee, pressing her hands tighter against his broad back.

"I would never abandon my child, or the mother of my child, I want you to know that."

"I do know that."

"I don't shirk responsibility…"

"Charles. I said, I know that. Believe me. But it's more than responsibility?"

"Course, I feel… I feel next to useless with him. I'd send money because it's the only thing I can actually do, but Alice won't accept it. So I set up an account; I keep putting it in there, every birthday, every Christmas. Lord knows what I'm actually going to do with it. At first I thought when he reaches twenty-one I'd release some for him, that came and went, as did twenty-five, and now he's almost thirty. He's a man, he's built a life, I can't destroy that."

There was nothing she could say to that; he was right, as much as it pained her to see him so utterly devastated by that fact.

"I know what I said before, but can I make one observation?"

"Go on."

"I think you fell in love with the wrong woman."

He smiled, very slightly, "I suppose we can't always help who we fall for."

"Oh believe me I know that fact very well. I made that mistake twice, never again."

He was silent at that statement; he'd only admitted to himself the other week that he was falling in love with her, it seemed a huge jump to actually feel it _was_ love, the real thing, and at their age there would have to be absolute certainty otherwise what was the point? If he even started to imagine spending the rest of his life with her it made him worry; he'd spent so many years living alone, abiding by his own will, that the thought of doing everything with somebody else, or for somebody else, well, that brought more questions than answers.

But then, if he imagined life without her it made him feel almost desperate. And what if she didn't love him back? He couldn't take another Alice situation.

She brushed a kiss to his forehead, "Stop mulling on things now," she said gently. "I know that's easier said than done, but otherwise you won't sleep, only worry."

"I know." He rubbed her back, "Sorry I've kept you up late talking."

"Only talking?"

"I blame you for the other stuff. It was your idea to join me in the shower."

"I was just getting in there to hurry you along."

"You took advantage of me whilst I was naked, Elsie Hughes, don't try and get out of it now."

"Want me to try again next Sunday?"

He shrugged, "Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday… Any time."

She laughed, "You're busy mid-week, getting carpets fitted."

"I'll fit you in, at least 30 minutes."

She squeezed his arm, "We're past the bootie call stage."

"I don't even know what that is. But yes, if it means I'm unlikely to last thirty minutes, you're right."

"Charles!" She laughed.

"You've killed me," he closed his eyes.

"Have I?" She snuggled against him, watching his face in repose. "I wouldn't want to do that."

"Mmm, worth it."

She kissed his cheek, breathed in his scent as she pressed her face against his shoulder. It felt so good to be held by him, and now, oddly, like the most normal thing. "Don't feel you have to rush out when I go in the morning," she said, closing her eyes.

"Thank you. What are you up to tomorrow?"

She smiled, "Actually, I'm rather excited, I'm going to see a couple of my new properties, going to start drawing up plans for them."

"That does sound good."

"Would you like to come with me? You don't have to, if you're busy."

"No, that'd be nice, I don't want to intrude though."

"Don't feel you have to. I know you have your own job."

"Elsie," his hand pressed heavily against her shoulder. "I said I wanted to, I meant it." He kissed her head, "Go to sleep."

"Alright. Night sweetheart."

He smiled at the sentiment, the softness in her voice, the obvious affection.

It was the most enriching Sunday he could remember having in many years.

* * *

 _Well, what do you think? Did you guess correctly? Will Elsie be the one to help him get over Alice? Will Charles fix the scars caused by the old farmer? So many questions! :-)_ _Thanks for reading and sticking with them xx R_


	16. Chapter 16

_Sorry for the delay, I kept changing my mind about little details!_

 _Thanks for all the reviews and support – I do try and reply where I can but I can't do this with guest reviews, but don't think I don't appreciate your comments. x R_

* * *

 **Chapter 16**

 **Wednesday 11** **th** **May**

"Yes to next Tuesday, two o'clock," Elsie said, holding her phone to her ear, waiting to be taken off hold, and giving instructions to Anna at the same time. "But I can't do Friday."

"The roof guy says he can't get any other time."

"Can you go, or…" she waved towards where Ethel's desk in the other room, "could she go?"

Anna scrunched up her nose, "She's worked here less than a fortnight, and you know I'm going away this weekend, you said I could leave at lunch on Friday."

"Oh god, yes, I'd forgotten." She leant back in her chair, "This bloody 'on-hold' music is driving me mad. Charles is taking me to the theatre Friday… What time does he need to see me, the roofer – what's his name again?"

"Paul, and he says he'll be there for six."

"Okay," she bit her lip, "okay so say yes, I'll just have to change beforehand and we'll have to leave straight from there. I'm sure Charles won't mind coming with me."

Anna smiled to herself as she added the date and time to her iPad; she'd never worked for Elsie when she was in love, not that she'd ever admit to that fact, but Anna had a sneaking suspicion that's exactly what it was. Prior to her dating this _Mr. Carson_ her boss had always been business first, everything else way down the list.

At her desk she made the call to the roofer, left a message on his phone, and went back to filtering through the many bills they received.

"You doing alright?" She asked Ethel.

"Not bad, getting there, bit dull though ey, all these numbers."

Anna watched her carefully as she entered digits into the excel sheet; she'd been surprised when Elsie hired her, she wasn't the type of girl she'd expected her to choose and, with only two weeks under her belt, it was surprising even more than she'd complain about the tasks Anna delegated to her.

Still, it was what it was. She was only a worker and most of the time she just got on with things.

When the front door opened both girls simultaneously looked up from their computer screens.

"Hi," Charles said, nervously stepping into the office.

Anna grinned, "Hello, I don't suppose it's us you want."

"Erm, no, not really," he felt a bit silly now, being there of a lunchtime, he'd always been a very private man and it felt unnerving to think people knew of his relationship, that they were watching how it unfolded. He grasped the flowers he'd brought even tighter, "Is she free?"

"She was on the phone, let me check."

Anna got to her feet, unable to shift the lopsided smile from her face as she ducked her head inside Elsie's office. Finding her off the phone and staring intently at the documents on her desk – pen in hand, glasses on – Anna waved Charles inside.

"Someone to see you," Anna said.

"I hope it's not that bloody guy again trying to sell us wifi, we've told him we're already set up." She looked up, past Anna to where Charles stood squashed in the doorway, his head barely clearing the space.

"Oh hello," she slid her glasses down her nose.

"I'll leave you to it," Anna said, exiting discreetly and closing the door behind her.

"Hello gorgeous...," Charles smiled, moving towards her desk, "And I hope 'bloody wifi guy' doesn't greet you that way."

Elsie got up from her desk, dropping her glasses on top of the paperwork and making her way round to him, "No, he usually doesn't speak - just dives on top of me."

"I'll assume you're being your usual foxy self and ignore that."

"Foxy!" She laughed.

"Shut up," He pulled her into a hug, pressing a kiss to her head. "Flowers are for you," he said, dropping them onto her desk and bringing his now free arm up around her.

"Thank you. This is nice in the middle of the day," she said against his chest, arms finding their way around his broad frame. "Though watch your wandering hands, Charlie dear, they're bound to be watching through the window."

"My wandering hands?" He said, pushing back from her, "I think you're the one to be watched."

"Mmm, maybe," she kissed his mouth. "So, what can I do for you?"

"Wondered if you were free for lunch, that's all, I was just feeling sorry for myself, you know. Moping about." He moved to sit in the chair across from her desk.

"Well, I'm glad you _moping about_ made you think of me."

"You know what I mean. Let's go, have a glass of wine, share some chips."

She pouted, "I can't sweetheart, as nice as that sounds."

"Not even for an hour; forty-five minutes?"

She sighed, "I'm just about to leave to go and check on building work, you could come, keep me company?"

"I guess I could."

"Don't you have your own work to do?"

"All done. Thomas is handling so much these days; I often feel I'm just signing things off."

"Feeling redundant?" She teased as she packed her briefcase.

"A little. Would I be in the way, if I came?"

"Never. We can call and get a sandwich somewhere on the way."

"Sounds fair enough," he slapped his legs, getting to his feet, "Better than wandering around the flat."

"I feel so wanted."

He glanced out the window to where Anna and Ethel worked, "How's she getting on?" He jerked in Ethel's direction with his chin.

" _Hmm_ , is my appraisal for now."

"That's hardly a ringing endorsement."

"I'll review again in a fortnight," she slipped a coat on. "And don't forget I did this for you."

He saluted, "Noted."

* * *

Even though they'd done this many times now, Charles still felt slightly odd whenever she was driving and he the passenger. Perhaps he was old-fashioned in that regard, but he felt like the man should be the one chauffeuring his girl around.

And Elsie always drove everywhere so damn fast.

He pulled his seatbelt tight and pushed his chair back slightly, making room for his legs.

"Can I ask you something?" She asked, indicating and turning out of her street and towards the main road. "It's been on my mind since Sunday."

"Go on."

"It's sensitive."

"Okay…"

"I just wondered…" she stopped at the red light, glanced in her mirror, watched a lady with her young son cross the street in front of her. "And don't feel in any way that you have to answer."

"Mmm, go on then, ask away."

"How many times _have_ you slept with Alice?" She asked, turning her tongue over in her mouth nervously.

"Okay, that's quite a question for a Wednesday lunchtime."

"I know, and I'm not being nosy," she added quickly, "It's just…I just wondered."

"Twice, just twice," He said honestly. "I say 'just' like that matters, like that makes it better. I wasn't lying when I first told you about her, about it being over two years since I'd slept with her, or anybody. But I'd never… that first time…"

"I know, you don't have to explain that part, I know you'd never told anybody about her and…William… I get why you didn't admit to that on the first night we met!" She laughed, awkwardly, ashamed for asking somehow but also glad of it. "I just wondered if there'd be any other occasions."

"No, those two. After the first, after William, I swore off her for life. But then – well, it gets messy, hormones take over, feelings get in the way."

"And we're only human."

"Unfortunately yes. And that night, the second time, we were just reminiscing and I was so lonely and it was so lovely just being with her. Christ, I sound like I'm making excuses for myself."

"No, you don't. I asked you to explain. Do you think me too nosy?"

He smiled, shook his head, "No. Not at all. It's actually good to have someone to talk about it to, does that make sense? Someone to… to finally get it out of here." He tapped the side of his head.

"I understand that. Sometimes I think if it hadn't been for Beryl forcing me to open up when I first moved here I'd have never gotten over..." She bit her lip, "men…"

He made a noise in the back of his throat, as if he was agreeing yet grumbling too.

Elsie slowed the car as they hit traffic, and tilted her head towards him. "Can I ask you something else?"

He stretched his legs again, "You best me buying me a damn good lunch."

"I'm going to take that as a yes, so, would you…" she swallowed, gripped the steering wheel tightly. "Would you ever consider, doing _it_ again, you know, with her?"

"God no!" He jumped in, turning in his seat to look at her, "Never, never."

She felt her body relax, "Good. Just wanted to check."

"Can I ask you something now?"

"Yes, they are real, and no, I haven't had botox."

He laughed so much his stomach shook and he held his hand across it shyly, "That wasn't it, funnily enough. But thank you for making what I am going to say that bit easier."

"You're welcome. We're almost there; we'll grab a sandwich here then head straight to the house, if you don't mind."

"Course not."

"Go on then, ask."

"Serious question."

"As expected," she indicated to pull up at the side of road by the café.

"When are you going to tell me about your sister?"

* * *

They sat in the garden of Elsie's new property as they ate sandwiches and drank takeaway coffees. There was a pile of bricks at the far end of the driveway and Elsie laid a blanket that she kept in the boot of the car over them so they could sit, or, at the very least, perch.

It was pleasant out. Everything bright and green now, birds chuntering in the trees, that sharp edge to the air that winter brought was gone.

"What's it like?" She asked, watching him as he chewed.

"Not bad, actually, I mean not like the roast beef mother used to make but not half bad."

"I told you they make things themselves, bake the bread rolls, roast the meat, things like that."

Charles noted the paper bag that sat between them on their makeshift table, "Looking forward to that Krispie, not had one of those since I was at school."

"They were good, weren't they? I used to love steamed pudding and custard."

"Mmm, me too," he said between chewing.

She laughed, "Really? I would never have thought it."

Charles lifted a foot up, the toe of his shoe fiddling with the stone wall that marked the divide between driveway and garden.

"Not a bad little back yard really," he noted.

"Not at all, I'll fix a bench out here, or two. Students like al fresco dining. Drinking mostly."

"Yeah, I remember that."

"I'll show you around after lunch, then I have to talk to the builders, confirm a few things."

"Fair enough, I'll skulk around out here."

She smiled, "They'll think you're the heavy, me bringing a great man like you to have my back as I discuss money."

"I hardly think you need it. You're pretty damn tough."

"Perhaps not as much as you might think."

He looked at her; the sun was above her in the trees and he squinted in order to make out her expression. "Sorry if I upset you earlier, overstepped a line."

She shook her head, scrunched her sandwich bag in her hand, "Not at all. Goodness, I've quizzed you on no end of stuff."

"Yes, but I rather feel I could ask you to tell me about any of your past lovers and you would, I don't think that bothers you."

"Perhaps not. It's just, my sister…" she paused, pursed her lips as she considered her next words. "I find that hard," she felt her throat close up, the familiar tightness in her chest that signalled that words would soon be very difficult and tears likely. "It's so wrapped up in my own guilt that it would take more than a lunchtime coffee to go through."

He cut her off with a hand on her knee, "It's okay, forget I asked. I don't want you to be upset. It's okay."

She leant in closer to him, found his shoulder with her cheek and sat in silence for a minute or two just enjoying the weather, the freshness of the day and being close to him. She did trust him, more than she had any man, which was incredibly unnerving, terribly strange. And it seemed to have happened so quickly. But then he'd given her no reason not to trust him.

"It's Beryl's birthday dinner on the 21st, are you free to come with me?"

"Course," he said without consideration, kissing the top of her head. If indeed there was already something in his diary he'd shift it. "Where is it?"

"Some fancy restaurant in town we like, Isobel will be there with Richard, who you already know. And you'll get to meet Beryl's husband."

"Sounds nice…" he paused, smiling before he even said his next words. "Do I need to get a gift?"

She giggled, slapping his chest playfully as she sat up.

His smile was lovely, kind, and she leant it to kiss him, melting into him, her chest against his, his hand moving to her back.

"We should go in, before we're wolf whistled," he whispered.

"Ah, too late," she whispered in return, getting to her feet. "I wondered where you were?" She said, her tone very different to the one she'd used with Charles.

Charles twisted his neck, looking over his shoulder to the short, stocky man crossing the drive towards them.

"Where've you been you gorgeous thing?" The man said, a broad London accent clipping his words.

He held his arms aloft as he moved towards her and she greeted him in a hug.

"Busy," she said before kissing his cheek. "You're getting on alright though, aren't you?"

"As well as can be," he glanced over to where Charles sat.

"Stan, this is Charles," Elsie said, leading him over, and Charles rose to greet the man and shake his hand.

"Ah, so you're the man keeping her busy," he shook Charles' hand at the same time as hugging Elsie tight to him.

"Charles, Stan's worked with me for well over twenty years."

"I have indeed, and she's the sexiest client I have."

"Oh shut up."

"You're a lucky fella, I've been trying to date her ever since we met," he laughed.

"He's been married over forty years," Elsie said, pressing her hand to the older man's chest, "And he has four kids with her."

"All a mistake," he teased, "And you know you could've had me any time you wanted."

"Oh bugger off! Tell me about my house."

He laughed again, turning towards the building, "You know I'm only joking. He knows that right?"

"I'm sure he does," she smiled at Charles as he followed behind them.

"I know that," he agreed, winking at her; the old guy was forward but funny and he certainly felt no threat at all in regards to him.

"Right well, we need to make some decisions about this dining room – the lounge is big enough for students, you can get a table in the kitchen. So, your decision – do you need actually need a dining room…?"

"Or?"

"Or a couple more bedrooms? Shared bathroom perhaps?"

"A-ha, okay, so let's go look then," she sounded almost giddy and it made Charles smile. "Let me get my handbag, meet you inside."

She let go of Stan's arm and Charles waited for her as she retrieved her handbag, "You going to come in? Have a look around?"

"Sure, I fancy seeing it before the finished product."

"It's pretty dusty in there, and there'll be choice language as it's builders."

He chuckled, "You think I've never heard bad language?"

"You're proper and correct," she smiled, kissing his cheek, "take no notice of Stan, he's a joker."

"I got that much," he squeezed her arm.

"And I will tell you about Becky, when the time is right," she said gently, holding his gaze for just a second before setting off purposefully into the house.

He followed behind – this woman was like some giant jigsaw puzzle; he'd slot one piece into place then go off searching for something else. It was certainly never dull.

* * *

"So, what do you think about my idea with the bedrooms?"

"I bow to your superior knowledge with these things," he said, "does it seem a shame to lose the history of the place – yes. Those grand room sizes seem to be a thing of the past. But, can I see why making it an extra two bedrooms would be beneficial for you? Yes."

"True businessman," she said as they headed back to the car.

"Well, I am feeling it today, actually. Managed to seal a pretty lucrative contract."

"Oh?" She started the engine, pulled her seatbelt into place as she listened to him.

"It's a month working for one family, they host this event every summer and there's plenty of parties and the like. All very old money."

"Ah, I'm getting a clear picture. Good for you."

"I know, everyone in the industry wants it, well everyone that I know."

"Look at you, Alan Sugar."

He chuckled, "I wouldn't go quite that far."

"You're better looking, of course."

"Oh, of course," he was silent for a moment, watching the passing street signs, people going about their daily lives. It was after three and the roads were becoming congested with school traffic as parents rushed to collect their little darlings.

"It's in Spain," he finally added and it took Elsie a moment to process the information.

"A month in Spain?" She repeated. "And you're going?"

He nodded, turning his head to watch her profile as she drove. There was a slight dip to her chin, she licked her lips, but other than that no response.

"How do you feel about that?" He prompted, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together.

"Well, pleased for you of course, sounds like a good… a pretty impressive job to land." She cast him a quick look, offered a smile, "Prop up your pension."

"Quite," he agreed. "And you don't think anything else?"

She sucked in a breath, stiffened her spine as she came to a halt in a line of traffic stuck behind a reversing delivery truck. "Should I think anything else?" She teased, a smile ghosting across her pretty features.

"Maybe. A month seems a long time."

And then she really did smile, reaching across to squeeze his knee, "A month _is_ a long time."

"A _very_ long time," he agreed.

"Least you get a month in Spain. When is it?"

"July."

"You'll be as brown as a nut. And I've noticed you tan, I only burn."

"Fair, freckled skin, mine's like old boot leather."

"It is not," the traffic started moving again. "It's very soft to touch." She said matter-of-factly and he laughed.

"I'll take pride in that comment."

"Do," she giggled. "Oh, I want to ask you a favour."

"I seem to be handing a lot of them out at the moment."

"There'll be rewards," she assured him.

"I should hope so. What's the favour?"

"I have one of those swing seat things in my garage, I wrapped it up in the Autumn to keep it dry and I'd like it out again. It's heavy and I can't drag it," she paused, adding softly, "Tom helped last year."

"I see. It's no problem, I can get it out when we get back if you'd like."

"Thank you, I want to enjoy the garden now the weather is good again. And that's your treat, see, you can enjoy the garden too."

"Ahh, I see, touché. It _is_ an attractive garden – everything blooming, everything green."

"Are you being sarcastic?"

"Never. I actually do miss having a garden at this time of year."

"You ever wanted to buy a house?"

He chuckled, "Many, many times! I never quite got myself organised. Procrastination."

"I suppose you travelled so much."

"Yeah, keeping a house was always something I aimed for as I got older, somewhere to retire to, somewhere I felt I'd grow old in, probably even die in."

She grimaced, glancing at him, "What a lovely thought."

He grinned, made his eyes wide, lowered his voice, "And haunt thereafter."

She shivered, "Remind me not to live with you…"

They both laughed, but there was something awkward about it, something forced. It was perhaps a little too close to home.

"You know it's my birthday soon, don't you?"

"I do, what are we doing? Or should I ask what are _you_ doing?"

"We, I'd definitely prefer a 'we'. But I haven't thought, haven't planned. Just Sunday lunch I guess, that'll be fine with me."

"Alright, I'll book a table somewhere."

"You don't have to."

"I want to, leave it with me. Perhaps we can take your mother with us?"

"Mmm, sure… Fifty-seven," he sighed, "Old bloody man."

She chuckled, "You want to go to the cinema tonight _old man_? Have popcorn? Make out in the back row?"

"Who can turn down an offer like that?"

* * *

 **Monday 16** **th** **May**

It's five days before Elsie plucks up the courage to call Robert. She gets the number, and a pep talk, from Isobel, and sits at her desk several nights running staring at the phone before she finally gives in and dials the number late Monday evening.

It's the Crawley's home line and she prays somebody picks up and not the answering machine. Six rings before she's granted relief.

"Robert Crawley."

It was silly for her to feel so nervous, she'd handled countless awkward conversations over the years with tenants, surely she could handle this.

"Robert, I'm sorry to bother you, it's Elsie Hughes."

"Oh," she heard him cough, "Hello," the shuffling of a chair. "Erm, a surprise to hear from you."

"Yes, I… I got your number from Isobel, I hope you don't mind. You see Charles' birthday is coming up."

"Yes, I know."

"Course you did; I didn't mean that."

"No, I wasn't being rude. Erm…"

"I wanted to organise something."

"Okay. That sounds nice."

"I wondered if you, well if could help, really." She twirled a pencil on the pad of paper before her, spiralling out as she drew a heart and went over and over the lines engraining it into the paper.

"I'd be happy to Elsie, in whatever way I can. You know Charles is a very dear friend, an old friend."

"I know," she said softly, realising she'd stencilled CC into the centre of the heart – like some silly schoolgirl realising for the first time that her heart could beat for someone else. "And I am sorry for what happened at your dinner party, I never meant –,"

"No, no, I'm sorry, I was the one who was rude. And I am sorry about all that business."

Elsie chewed on her lip as she listened, turning the pencil over in her hand and flicking it against the desk. He sounded as uncomfortable as she felt.

"Let's forget about it all, shall we?" She offered diplomatically.

"Yes, thank you," she was sure she heard him sigh in relief. "So, in what way can I assist?"

"Charles doesn't want anything big –,"

"He never does."

"Just Sunday lunch, somewhere nice," Robert chuckled on the other end of the line. "So I've found a lovely pub, and hopefully the weather will be good and we can sit outside. I'd like to get his friends there, and I wondered if I could get some numbers from you. Make it a surprise, you know."

Robert smiled, "I think that would be wonderful. It's very kind of you, to do this."

Elsie felt herself blush, "Well, I want him to have a nice time. Especially with him going away for a month, don't want him forgetting us," she laughed nervously.

"Yes he told me about that. You do realise he considered turning the job down? Offered to just send Barrow in his place, but the family wanted Charles. He would've turned it down for you, had you asked."

She hadn't realised any of that, and now she did know she wasn't quite sure what to do with the information.

"He cares very much for you, Elsie, you do know that?"

She swallowed, pressed the pencil hard into the paper, and licked her lips, "I care for him too," she said gently.

"I'll get those numbers, just give me a second to find my phone book."

* * *

 **Saturday 21** **st** **May**

Charles had knocked on the door four times before he finally gave in and just tried the handle, when it opened he went in, stepping into the hall at the exact same time as Elsie came down the stairs.

He felt his cheeks flush red, embarrassed at his forward behaviour, so unlike him, "Oh, sorry, I just –,"

"Hi darling, did you knock?" She asked as she stepped into the hall. "Sorry, was in the bathroom doing my makeup," she kissed his cheek, hands on his shoulders. "You smell gorgeous."

"You look gorgeous."

"Thank you very much."

He followed her into the kitchen, admiring her outfit, she didn't often wear trousers and it was nice to see her in such a flamboyant outfit; the brightness of her top was wonderful, very alluring.

"So we have to collect Beryl on our way, Bill's going to be late."

"Oh?"

"Yes," she took a glass from the cupboard and ran the cold water before she filled it. "She rang me earlier, moaning because he'd only just got in, and caked in mud."

"Oh dear. You're taking pills?"

"Had a headache all day," she explained before she swallowed.

"Aren't you drinking tonight?"

She smiled, finishing the water, "Don't be so pedestrian."

He shrugged, hands in pockets, "Wouldn't dream of it." He glanced at his shoes, he'd spent a good twenty minutes brushing them earlier and the bright light of her kitchen meant he could really appreciate them.

"You okay?" She asked gently, watching his reaction.

"Fine. Why?"

"You seem… are you nervous?" She asked, a jovial tone to her voice.

He shrugged again, "Never been to this place, is it a restaurant?"

"Bar restaurant. It's nice, you'll love the steak."

"Will I?"

"I think I know you well enough now," she stood before him, hands sliding around his waist. "No need to be nervous, they're all very nice."

"You mean none of them will argue with me at the dinner table?"

She pursed her lips, remembering her dinner with _his_ friends, "Perhaps only if you claim football is better than rugby, otherwise you're safe. Oh yes, don't mention David Cameron." She tapped his belly with one hand, before moving to the table to check the contents of her handbag.

He rolled his eyes, "Noted. Am I driving?"

"Course not. I booked a taxi for seven."

He glanced at his watch – five to.

"You did bring your overnight bag, didn't you?" She scanned the hall.

"In the car," he admitted sheepishly.

Her smile was smug, "Good. You know maybe you should leave some things here, a toothbrush or something, so you don't have to pack every weekend." She surprised herself with the offer – she'd never even considered asking that of him.

"I could do," he said gently, caught off guard. "Wouldn't put you off – having my replacement pants in the bottom drawer?"

She smirked, shaking her head, "I don't think so."

"Right," he nodded, feeling an odd sense of pride swelling in his stomach. "Let's get going then..."

"I'm ready," she swung her bag over her arm, turned to him, "Do I look okay?"

"I told you, you look –,"

"Shit, forgot my earrings, be right back."

He waited in the hall, listened to her fuss about upstairs – she was a flurry of energy and he often found himself exhausted just watching her.

"Taxi's here," he called up to her, hearing a car pull up outside.

"I'm ready," she hurried down the stairs, earrings in hand, "I'll put these on in the car. You got Beryl's present?"

"Have I…?"

"It's there, by the phone table."

"Right, okay," he picked up the gift bag. "I'm ready for a drink after only five minutes with you."

"Oh you love it," she exclaimed, hurrying out of the door before him and calling back, "Lock up."

* * *

The restaurant was sleek, modern and loud, and after spending fifteen minutes in the car with Elsie and Beryl jabbering on Charles could do with a quiet moment. Sometimes he forgot how much he lived his life in silence – most of the time he was alone in his flat, even when working he was usually in his quiet office, and things were rigid, ordered, and calm.

There was a bar before they entered the main restaurant, clad in some kind of purple leather-look material, and high stools along the edge of it. From the ceiling hung a hundred different lights and there were steps leading up to a further seating area.

"Fancy carpet," Charles noted the bright purple covering on the stairs, the mix of pink and purple padded seats and the very young clientele. Feeling out of place, he followed close behind the giggly pair in front of him.

"Oh goodness, look at these high stools, help me up Charles," Elsie said, already resting her hand on his forearm for support.

"You need a step stool," he said, helping her.

"If she needs a step stool I'll need a ladder," Beryl commented, "and where's my husband when I need a hand? Running late."

"Here," Charles graciously helped her up before standing behind Elsie, nervously, though he had no idea why he was so nervous. He dug his hands in his pockets, realised he was slouching, and pulled them out again. "Should we get drinks?"

"I'm just scanning the menu," Elsie said, peering up over her glasses at him, "Why don't you sit down?"

"It'd just be a perch."

She smiled, then whispered, "It'd be more comfortable."

"I'm fine, I'll go to the bar." He whispered in return, moving his hand to her shoulder.

"We're at the bar," she pointed out.

"Oh yes, so we are," he smiled, his eyes bright as he leaned in close to her. Perhaps she was right, there was no need to be so nervous when she was there.

"I'm going to have a cocktail," Elsie stated, "Beryl, what would you like?"

"Shall we go martinis darling to start? Get one for Izzy too."

"I'll get them," Charles said, digging into his pocket for his wallet.

"Put it on the tab," Elsie said, turning on her stool, touching his hand. "We can sort the bill later."

"Ah, here they are," Beryl exclaimed as Isobel and Richard joined them.

"Happy Birthday!" Isobel chimed, waving two gift bags in the air – one large, one small, both made from shiny gold material.

"Thank you, you look lovely," the pair shared a hug and exchanged kisses, "we were just about to order drinks. Martini to start?"

"Yes, not too dirty though."

"That's Elsie's drink," Beryl teased.

"Ignore her," Richard said, kissing Elsie's cheek, "You look nice dear, very relaxed."

"Thank you, you know Charles don't you?"

"I do indeed," Richard shook Charles' hand. "Nice to see you here."

"Thanks, it's quite a place."

"Great colours aren't they, very theatrical. Shall I go get drinks?" Richard offered, turning to the ladies.

"Good idea darling, three martinis, one extra dirty," Isobel ordered.

"Got it. Charles?"

"Erm, can I just have a glass of white, dry, please. Thank you."

Richard smiled, "Yep, won't be a sec. I'll go get someone's attention and check in."

Charles mentally kicked himself for coming across so stupidly, he leant against the bar, close to Elsie's back, watching as she turned in her seat to face her friends. It was interesting to watch her with them, she was so relaxed and at ease, a far cry from how she was when they had dinner with Robert and Cora.

"Your breasts look larger," Beryl suddenly stated to Elsie out-of-the-blue, "are you wearing a padded bra?"

"I am not!" Elsie replied, self-consciously checking herself.

"Are you sure?"

"I think I _would_ remember, Beryl! I don't own a padded bra."

"Maybe it's all the extra attention they're getting."

"That's an old wives' tale," Isobel insisted.

"But a good one," Beryl added. The three women giggled together.

"I'm not going to deny it," She said naughtily, "My breasts _are_ being very well taken care of."

"Elsie!" Charles said, his voice high, his face turning a fetching shade of red.

She turned to him laughing, grasping his arm, "Oh goodness, for a moment I forgot you were here, thought it was just the girls."

"Clearly."

"Don't be too shocked," Isobel said, "they're always like this."

"She's worse than I am," Elsie insisted, pointing at Beryl, "birthday girl."

"Am I to expect this all night?" Charles asked chuckling.

Elsie nodded, leaning in to kiss his cheek, missing the gleeful expressions her friends exchanged.

"Oh here he is, my wonderful husband," Beryl hopped down from her stool, "he's made it!"

"Sorry, sorry," Bill said, hands held aloft, "all clean now, job done and not too late."

"Let me introduce you," Elsie whispered to Charles as she watched the interplay between husband and wife. "He's funny, you'll like him."

"I like you," he said, his eyes fixed on her.

She twisted her head back to him, leant in and kissed his mouth this time, just simply, and he smiled at her. "I'm feeling more relaxed."

"Good."

* * *

"Will you share a starter with me?" Elsie asked as they scanned the menus once at their table. "I don't want too much."

"Which were you thinking?" Charles said, reading through the mains – but Elsie had been right, he'd pretty much already decided on the steak.

"This divine deli board," she pointed it out to him, "it sounds delicious but I can't have that to myself."

Charles read the contents, "It does sound good."

"Excellent," she closed her menu and slipped her glasses off, "decision made."

"That easy?" He grinned, enthralled by her light hearted tone.

"That easy. Salad for main."

"What?" He gasped, shaking his head in disapproval. "No way."

"I'm having that Bang Bang Chicken one."

"You would have something with a name like that."

"Mmm," she rubbed his arm, reached for her drink.

"What have you got now?"

"Pink… …75, that's it. Wanna try it?" They were sitting so close together they might as well have been the only two at the table.

"I'll stick to my wine."

"Go on, just a sip." She pressed the glass up to his lips and he gave in and tried it.

"Not bad."

"They do some great gins here, you'd like it. Gin lover's paradise they call it, try the Old Fashioned."

"Will it ruin my fillet?"

She could hardly keep the smugness from her face (she knew he'd choose steak), "No, it won't."

"Then I'll have one next."

Smiling she kissed him again, slowly this time, until Bill coughed and Beryl laughed.

"Stop it, make us all jealous and simmering with envy," she said.

"Ignore her," Isobel implored, closing her menu, "it's nice to see."

"She always was a bit of a voyeur!" Beryl teased and Richard laughed loudly.

"So, what kind of farm do you run, Bill?" Charles asked quickly, covering his embarrassment.

"Sheep mostly. But, to be honest, I do a bit of everything if it pays."

Charles nodded, as if he understood what it meant to spend your life on a farm. "And," he turned his attention to Beryl, "I don't think I know what you do?" He only realised how abrupt his statement might appear after he'd said it. "I mean, I know you…cook…I remember you did the catering for Isobel's fundraiser thing."

"Oh yes!" Beryl gasped, eyeing Elsie, recalling that it was that night when Charles had been so jealous over Tom. "Well, luckily I can cook. I do the odd bit of catering for my friends, but my day job is closer to home. I run a farm shop café across from the house. We sell the odd slice of cake, it pays the bills," she shrugged.

"She's being modest," Elsie insisted. "She's an amazing cook, they do wedding cakes too and the things that her and Daisy create are astonishing."

"Daisy?" Charles asked, "Your daughter? Elsie mentioned you had a daughter."

"Yes, my youngest, we have two boys too."

"And what do they do?" He asked, feeling Elsie's hand slide over his on the table – maybe he was being too enthusiastic, bordering on nosy. "Are they farmers too?" He asked, hoping to soften the questions.

"David isn't, our eldest, he's in the RAF." Bill said proudly.

"Oh God right, so he's away a lot."

"He is, and still no girl which means still no babies," Beryl lamented.

"Here we go," Elsie said, finishing her drink, "Grandma Beryl. What do you think the kids would call you?"

"Granny?" Isobel said and Beryl wrinkled her nose.

"Too posh dahhling," she teased. "Something like that cuddy old bird over there."

Charles felt himself laughing, his chest expanding with air and relaxation; these were clearly a great group of people…and Elsie's hand was still on his.

"How the hell Jimmy hasn't landed us with several babies by now is a bloody miracle," Bill said. "Rascal. He'll have any lass any road up."

Charles' eyes widened.

"Spent too much time with his auntie Elsie as a kid," he teased.

"Oh bugger off," she threw her napkin across the table at him. "He's all his own making. Is he still with that girl, what was her name? Lisa?"

"Who knows?" Bill shrugged. "His affections are up and down more often than a bride's nightie."

Charles coughed, glanced at his menu again to hide his face as the others laughed. He felt Elsie's hand lightly squeeze his and he glanced up at her just as the waiter arrived to take their order – thank God!

* * *

"Well, Elsie knows what it's like, a working farm." Bill said after they'd ordered. "Close community. Everyone's at it."

Beryl's eyes widened and she cast Elsie a guarded look.

"I don't remember anything of the sort," she said grandly, playing her role well. "I was an innocent little girl when I lived up there."

"Wee Scottish lassie," Richard said, his accent deliberately strong. "I knew plenty of them."

"I'm sure you did," Isobel smirked, "and sweet talked them all too."

"Ay, they rather like the 'Doctor' title."

They all laughed as Richard preened.

"How's your Da getting on Elsie? How's he copin' at his age wi' farm?"

Elsie took that precise moment to pop an olive into her mouth, chewing and avoiding the glances that came her way.

"You're hardly just coping at your age," Beryl interjected, teasing. "Bloody fool forgets what he's doing one minute to next. He left tractor going other day, petrol spewing out, got distracted he says."

"I'm telling you I _was_ distracted."

"Reckons he saw a deer in neighbouring field," she slapped his back, "Daft old bugger."

"How are things at the surgery, Izzy?" Elsie chipped in, hoping to steer the focus elsewhere.

"She's a star," Richard enthused, "everybody loves her, even though at times she gets a little too involved."

Beryl chortled, "You mean 'takes over…' don't you?"

Charles drifted out from the conversation for a moment, sitting back in his chair and stretching his long legs out beneath the table.

"Alright?" He whispered, hardly moving.

She shifted beside him, mirroring his posture as she leant back in her chair, and nodding very faintly, "Alright."

* * *

After dinner, they relocated to the bar area so they could continue both the chatter and the drinking. A couple more bottles of wine were ordered and Charles got the clear impression they were settling in for the night so he chose a large, leather chair that seemed like it could keep his bulk comfortable for the next couple of hours.

Elsie had disappeared to the bathroom as they left the table and he strained his neck as he scanned the crowded bar looking for her. One, he felt under the spotlight being on his own with her friends; and secondly, he worried she wouldn't be able to find them.

When he spotted her she was standing to one side of the bar, laughing as a man spoke to her. A younger man, maybe in his late thirties, early forties.

Sneaking away from the others he made his way across, hands in pockets, catching snippets of their conversation as he got closer. The man in question was clearly drunk and Elsie sounded like she was doing her best to be polite yet edge out of the conversation.

"Wondered where you'd got to?" He said, keeping his tone casual.

"Darling," she practically jumped into his arms, "I'm sorry, I got waylaid." She gripped tightly on his arm, draping herself around him. "So, Charles, this is an old friend."

The slightly inebriated man lurched to his feet and stuck a hand out towards Charles, "Scott."

"Good to meet you," Charles slid one arm tightly around Elsie's waist and used the other hand to briefly shake Scott's.

"So you're her er…?"

"My boyfriend," Elsie said proudly.

"I…am…", he glanced down at her and she rolled her eyes before turning her attention back to Scott.

"It was lovely to see you again, so glad you're doing well," she said, forced gaiety in her voice. "Unfortunately we're meeting friends."

"That is a…" he downed his drink, "…shame." He leant into her, kissing her cheek, "Seeya again, hopefully."

"Oh, definitely." She backed away, pulling Charles with her.

"Who the hell was that?"

"A very _big_ , very awful mistake."

"Oh," he said pointedly, and she felt his body stiffen beside her as he drew himself to his full height.

Chuckling she tugged on his arm, pressing up against him, "A one-time alcohol fuelled mistake that's been confined to the vaults of past fuck-ups. Not major fuck-ups, just the vault next door, see?"

His mood instantly relaxed and he laughed, "I see. I think I have a similar place."

"Mmm."

"Which vault am I in?"

"Sweetheart you don't need to go to a vault; you're out in the open," she kissed his cheek. "Come on, let's get drunk together and dance."

* * *

"Why did I agree to this?" Charles lamented as Elsie pulled on his arm and spiralled out before him.

He let go of her hand and watched her twirl beneath a streetlamp; it was drizzling with rain and the illusion made her appear as if she was being showered with glitter. It clung to her hair like specks of diamonds.

"Hurry up ballerina," he teased, "you may be gorgeous but my feet are killing me and my bladder's full."

"I told you to visit the bathroom before we left the pub."

"I didn't realise we'd be walking home; thought it'd be another taxi."

"Oh but it's nice though, isn't it?" She danced her way back to him, "Just the two of us, slightly drunk, midnight walk."

"It's almost two in the morning," he pointed out, gripping her arm so she had to walk with him. "I'm not used to such behaviour."

"I could get you used to it," she turned to face him, lifting her arms up high to rest her hands on his head, standing on wobbly tiptoes as she kissed him and moaned into his mouth. "Could I be a naughty influence on you Mr. Carson?"

"All the time…" he gripped her bottom, "But you can't seduce me in the street," he sank into the kiss.

"Let's rush home," she suddenly said, pulling away again, "before you lose your…" she glanced down his body, "…vim and vigour."

"Elsie Hughes!" He gasped.

"I'm just saying – our age and alcohol, not a safe bet."

"I'd chase you home if it wasn't for my dodgy knee."

She was laughing as she half ran, half skipped down the street, "Point proven!" she called back.

"You mean, 'I proved my point', don't you?" He called back in return, shaking his head at his own ludicrous behaviour.

* * *

It was humid in the bedroom; the mix of late night rain mixing with the Spring warmth. The bedclothes were gathered at the bottom of the bed, pushed haphazardly away, clothes forgotten on the floor. Charles' mouth was on her neck, and one of his hands lifted her leg up around his, holding onto her thigh as he moved inside her and ground out her name.

"Ow!" Elsie yelped, her hand instinctively going to her head.

Charles lifted his mouth from her neck, "What?" He shuffled up her body a little, "Did I hurt you?"

"Banged my head," she smiled lopsidedly, rubbing the tender spot.

"Oh I'm sorry," he kissed her forehead, "sorry, darling."

"Mmm," she sighed happily as his mouth met hers, lifting one arm up and over his back, and Charles rolled to his left.

"Ow, ow, ow!" Elsie gasped.

Charles lifted himself up on his haunches, "What?"

"Trapped my leg between us."

"Bloody hell," he smiled, pushing his body from hers. "This isn't going well."

She giggled, "Like two silly teenagers." Her hand slid from his back up into his hair, bringing his mouth back down to hers, rubbing her nose tenderly against his.

"Wanna go on top?" He whispered.

"Less chance of injury perhaps," she agreed.

He rolled onto his side and she moved with him, facing him on the pillow; faces so close to each other they could kiss between talking.

Charles was warm and she snuggled her body against his, one of her arms tight around him, the other hand sneaking whispery touches up and down his chest. Closing his eyes, Charles buried his face in her hair, "You smell good." He kissed her head repeatedly until she looked up at him, wide-eyed, face pale and pink all at once.

"Sorry I hurt you," he squeezed her hip gently. "This precious body."

She giggled again, pressed against him and sighing happily. "You didn't, it was us being drunk and clumsy," she yawned. "I once dated a man who put his hands round my neck when we were having sex."

"What?!" He gasped.

She nodded, pressing her face against his chest, "I was quite shocked when it happened. It was once, and I tried to excuse it, he'd never done it before. Then when it happened again I thought, that's it, getting out of this shit."

"Psycho."

"Some people have odd sexual desires," she flopped onto her back, "but I thought, it wasn't for me."

"No, quite." He shuffled down the bed, kissed her chest, rested his head there and they rearranged their bodies until they were cuddled together and comfortable; no easy feat when you had the height Charles did.

"I'd never hurt you," he said some time later, his voice heavy with sleep, his body curled around hers.

Elsie knew he meant more than physically, and she could honestly say she believed him, and she hadn't been able to say that about many men over the years.

"What's your favourite colour?" she suddenly asked.

"My favourite colour? Goodness… I'm going to go green, I like dark green, maybe shamrock green."

"That sounds nice, I think you should have a winter jumper in that colour, you'll be like a teddy bear."

He chuckled, "Because that sounds sexy!"

She pressed against him, eyes closed, smiling, "I think so, you're all cuddly and warm and big… you know, I mean, tall, broad, not… not that you're not… I'm going to shut up."

"What's your favourite colour, Elsie?"

"Cornflower blue," she said without a second of consideration. "They used to grow near my Granny's house back home, and I remember how beautiful she looked in the colour." She yawned, rolled onto her back and stretched and he watched her body move, the expression on her face.

She rolled over again, turned her back on him and he scooted up behind her, hugging her tight against him and kissing her shoulder.

"I had a great time tonight. Again."

"Me too, though I feel I'm a little drunk."

"I think I'll have a bit of a foggy head tomorrow too."

She smirked, "It was nice though, wasn't it, doing it together?"

"Every moment with you is nice," he admitted. "I'm going to miss you, when I go away."

"It's not that long, really." She said practically, rubbing her hand over his where it lay on her stomach. "I'll miss you too," she added softly, threading her fingers through his.

He kissed her shoulder again, up the back of her neck through her hair, "Come with me?" He asked simply.


	17. Chapter 17

_I'm writing as fast as I can people :-) Thank you for all your lovely messages and supportive comments, much appreciated. Now, we have Charles' birthday to deal with, and a small problem that some of you seem to have picked up on (but which I never intended) so I'll deal with that too! xx_

* * *

 **Chapter 17**

 **Sunday 29** **th** **May**

It is whilst lying in bed, wide awake, early on a Sunday morning, that Elsie realises two distinct things.

Charles is still asleep, lying on his back, mouth slightly open, breathing deep and heavy. His thick hair is mussed, no doubt from where her hands were the night before. There's that faintly sweet aroma of them in the room, the pale grey light coming in through her bedroom window offers silence but for his breathing and the odd shuffle of bedclothes whenever either of them moves.

She turns onto her side to face him; the sheets are around Charles' waist but draped up over her shoulder and she trails her fingers down from his chest to his belly, resting her palm there and feeling it rise and fall with his breathing.

He looks calm in sleep. She can take her time observing him; noting the lines around his eyes, the tiny traces of them by his mouth. The shades of his skin, the slight bristle on his chin – she thinks she's never seen him anything but clean shaven and wonders if he visits a barber or always does it himself. Funny how she doesn't know that, that she's never watched him shave, such a small, ordinary thing and yet she knows such other 'big' things about him and his life. She's beginning to piece together who he is, what's made him the way he is, to consider the workings of his mind… and heart too.

And it is then, as she's got her hand hovering on his chest, over the place that complicated organ occupies, that she realises the first thing. That whenever she thinks of him something pulls inside. That whenever she sees him she is suffused with joy, in the same way a balloon might fill with air or an empty bottle with water. That whenever he holds her, here in her bed, that she never wants to move again.

Elsie Hughes is in love.

Admitting it to herself is actually far easier than she thought. Like flicking a switch and filling the room with light.

It is perhaps admitting that to him that might cause her issues. As always with these cases there's an element of human doubt.

Back in January she was in no doubt whatsoever that the man was besotted with her. But then he seems to have lived such a buttoned-up pedestrian existence that meeting some whirlwind at a party who quickly seduced you was bound to bring such a reaction. Now, months later, she knows he likes her, enjoys her company, cares for her, trusts her. That they get on most of the time. They enjoy each other's company. She knows all of that, and logically those things could amount to love.

But she's not about to blunder on in and make some grand confession to him when he just might – _might_ – not feel the same way. Heaven forbid she's left hanging – vulnerable and out in the cold.

Besides, she's got to deal with it herself. Let the idea settle in, get used to it, make peace with it, before she even considers sharing that thought with him.

Turning onto her back again her tummy twinges and she grimaces as she reaches for her phone. It is only 6:35, she's a fool to be awake.

But this is when she the second realisation comes. A small, dark idea forms in the back of her mind, darting about, searching for validation. She scrolls to the calendar, traces back to the last time she noted this entry, her last period, weeks ago. Of course she's missed the odd one before, usually when she's been changing pill or ceased using it and her body clock's been messed up. She hasn't used it though, this time; it seems ridiculous at her age to even consider taking it, they've been fine with condoms, Charles has never complained.

A glance to his face in gentle repose. A bite to her lip and that scurrying worry, a silly worry, taking hold in her chest.

She'll text Beryl, go out for breakfast with her, leave Charles a note and empty her head of this silliness.

* * *

"So, tell me why I'm giving up a Sunday morning to come walking with you?"

"Don't complain, the sun is out, it's a pleasant day."

"It's currently…" Beryl glanced at her watch, "8:13, I should be asleep."

"This is good for us, healthy. Move a bit quicker though."

"Your legs are longer than mine. You go further in less strides."

Elsie slowed down, "I'll buy you breakfast when we've crossed the river back into town."

"Much better idea. Now, tell me," she grabbed onto Elsie's arm, slowing her down further. "Tell me exactly why we're here, and you're not in bed with the lovely Mr Carson doing things unsuited to the purity of Sundays."

"You're scandalous," Elsie shook her head, but she smiled nevertheless. The breeze blew in from the river and she turned her head towards it, closing her eyes momentarily to enjoy it. "I wanted to talk about something with you."

"Go on."

"Well two things really."

"I'm gonna have eggs; scrambled eggs, toast, bacon, mushrooms…"

"Shut up. I missed my period."

"What?" Beryl, somehow, simultaneously gasped and laughed at the same time.

"I think I'm going through the change! It's finally hit me."

"Oh bloody hell!"

"I'm telling you, I'm having hot flashes, I feel irritable…unsexy!"

"It must be bad," Beryl squeezed Elsie's arm, "couldn't be something else though, could it?"

"Don't be fucking ridiculous," Elsie snapped. "I'm fifty-one, and besides we always use protection."

"Okay, just wondered."

"He's fifty-six!" Elsie laughed dryly, "Almost fifty-seven, he's granddad age."

"Erm let's not forget that Ronnie Wood's wife is having twins, the guy's about a hundred."

"Sixty-eight," Elsie said, chewing her lip.

"There you go."

Elsie shook her head, clearing the memory of having frantic sex with Charles on the kitchen floor one night in April, "His wife is in her thirties, I, clearly, am not. I'm going to have to go to the Doctors."

"She'll just tell you that your periods will be unsettled for a while and then gradually all the shit falls out of your womanhood and you're a tired old spinster."

"This is bringing me such joy."

"I'm only joking, there's loads of good stuff these days, you'll be fine. He'll still love you."

"He doesn't love me."

"Yeah, course he doesn't."

"He hasn't said…" she closed her eyes again, took a gulp of fresh air. She felt very muddled that morning, very uncertain. "He's going to Spain for a month with work."

"Oh, okay, so that's interesting."

"He asked me to go with him."

Beryl's face broke into a smile, "Much better. You said yes?"

"I can't go to Spain for a month, absurd idea."

"Is it? You do run the company; you can go anywhere, whenever you want."

"No, but it's… he'll be working and… It just wouldn't be appropriate."

"You're making excuses," they set off across the bridge, passing a few early morning joggers on the way. "You always do."

"I do not. I've been very good with him, very open."

"Honey, you're head over heels."

"I do like him," Elsie admitted.

"Like him? Bloody hell you're crazy for him, and he's perfect for you! I've got to be honest I wasn't sure at first."

That piece of information surprised her, "Really? Why?"

"Because it was clear he was so into you, instantly smitten. And you're always so standoffish with men, I mean emotionally, and it was very clear he wasn't the kind of man who just wanted the odd night out and sex. I wondered how it'd play out," she shrugged, "I thought maybe you'd get scared, reverse, close off." She smiled warmly, "I'm glad I was wrong. But you're not having second thoughts, are you?"

"Goodness no," she said a little too quickly. "He's a lovely man, very kind and I…" she swallowed. "I'm really enjoying being with him."

"That's easy to see, I've known you for god knows how many years and never seen you so happy."

Elsie blushed, "But I can't go away for a month and do bugger all."

"Then go for shorter, a week or so."

"I think he only said it because he was drunk and felt bad."

"Has he asked since?"

"No, we haven't spoken about it. It was awkward when I didn't respond."

"Usual café?" Beryl asked.

"Yes, I guess so."

They set off in that direction.

* * *

Charles woke feeling delightfully refreshed, though he was surprised to be alone. There was a note folded neatly beneath his phone on the bedside table, _'Felt the need to exercise – it will soon pass – gone for a walk with Beryl. Won't be long. Make yourself at home; don't go anywhere! X'_

He rang her just after nine, and, after finding out she'd be home before twelve, he'd offered to make lunch for them.

It was rather nice, leaving her home to take a stroll to the shops. No hurry, the weather dry and pleasant; returning and letting himself in.

He felt quite at ease there, there was a welcoming calmness to her house that was as joyful as the woman herself. Tiny things – the scent in the guest bathroom, the locally made soap, the little artful touches; carvings, paintings of vast gardens and forests streaked with sunlight. Everything was organised and in its place, despite the often flighty nature she might like to portray, she was methodical. He found it easy to locate a vase in the kitchen for the flowers he'd purchased. He set them on the table and set about preparing the vegetables for dinner.

He was whistling along to the radio when Elsie got in, he listened to her in the hallway hanging up her things, "Hello you gorgeous thing," he called out to her.

"Hello," she stayed by the kitchen door for a while and watched him work. "What are we having?"

"Well, I got red meat of course," he grinned over his shoulder at her.

"Where's the apron from?"

"Picked it up at the supermarket."

"Nice touch." She wandered over to him, standing beside him at the counter and watching as he seasoned the meat.

"Good time with Beryl?"

"Yes, we walked, I bought her breakfast. Don't worry, I only had crumpets."

"Was odd, waking up to a note," he said, his tone light.

"I know, sorry about that. Just couldn't sleep and I… I needed to talk to her about something."

"Oh?"

She watched him seal the steaks in the pan, totally oblivious to the wave of crazy thoughts she'd gone through that morning. "So, I err… I missed my period,"

His head shot round towards her, a stricken expression upon it, "You missed your period?"

"Don't get stressed, I think I'm going through the change." She stole a carrot from the ones he'd chopped and munched on it. "Which probably means I'm going to dry up like an old prune and you'll want nothing to do with me."

"Don't be silly." He lifted the meat from the pan and placed it on the foil he'd laid out, wrapping it and popping it in the oven. "This is a serious thing, you and I, we did…"

"Don't even mention that, that's so ridiculous it's not even worth mentioning."

"You missed one period?" He repeated, wiping his hands on his apron (she happened to love the fact he was wearing an apron), "That's not so bad, is it? Doesn't that happen?"

"I missed two, actually. And to me it hasn't happened."

"Oh." He said, open mouthed. "Shit."

"I'm not pregnant, Charles." Saying the word seemed something of a nail in the coffin.

"But what if you're…"

"I am _not_ pregnant, Charles." She said firmly. "I'm an old woman."

"Older women than you have –,"

"Shut up! I'm not discussing this with you if you're going to say stupid things."

He took offence at the comment and turned back to his cooking, slicing his potatoes into strips to make chips. "How you want your meat?"

"Medium to well," she said, staring at his back. "I didn't mean to snap."

"It's fine, forget it."

She moved behind him, sliding her arms around his waist and resting her head against his back. "Just surprised by it."

"Are you going to take a test?"

She closed her eyes, pressed her forehead against his shoulder blade and then pulled away from him.

"No, I'm going to go to the Doctors and talk about menopausal symptoms."

"Elsie," he turned to face her. "We could just consider it."

"There is no need to."

"I know it'd be unnerving…"

"Unnerving? It'd be fucking twisted!"

"Don't swear."

"Oh for goodness sake," she marched out of her kitchen and into the hallway, digging around in the cupboard under the stairs.

Charles followed behind her, watching as she fussed. "What are you doing?"

"Looking for my wellies."

"Why?"

"I'm going to garden, I want to dig that tree up at the back, it's clear it's dead, so I'll dig it out and put something new in."

"Should you be doing that _now_?"

She shut the door of the cupboard firmly, fixing him with such a glare he retreated to the kitchen and continued making dinner.

* * *

 **Wednesday 1** **st** **June**

When she called him mid-week it was with a mix of trepidation and relief. They spoke every day now, even if they didn't see each other every day, but since Sunday their chats had been strained. Both wanting to say something, to question or admit, but neither willing to push against fragile boundaries.

He'd been telling her about his day, about reading with Alfie in the coffee shop and treating Ethel to lunch on her day off.

She'd rolled her eyes at that – the girl was proving quite the slippery customer in the 'work' department.

"Oh," she said, when he'd finished – as if it were an afterthought, as if she hadn't been dwelling on sharing this news since the moment she'd called him. "I started my period after all." She said gently, pressing the phone tight against her ear so she could picture his reaction.

"Oh, you did?" He said sharply, feeling his stomach sink a little. He sat back in the chair by the phone table. "And how you feeling?"

"Fine. Usual. I feel silly that I have an appointment at the Doctor's tomorrow, but, I'll just go and explain and see what she says."

"Okay," he breathed deeply, she heard him exhale and sigh.

"Are you okay?"

"A-ha."

She squeezed the phone tighter, "Tell me."

"Stupid of me, I just started, you know. Just started daydreaming. As stupid as it is. And I know you said it was ridiculous and you're right, I'm too old and too stuffy and stuck in my ways and all that. But… never mind. Did you eat dinner?"

"Yes. And don't not finish, you can tell me anything, you know that."

"You'll laugh."

"I won't."

"Just for a moment started to wonder what it might be like, to be a Dad, a proper Dad, not a dirty little secret."

She smiled sadly, looking down at her bare feet on the opposite end of the couch. "I understand that."

"Would've been a little bit nice, maybe, with you it might've been different."

She didn't reply to that, there was no need and it was silly to indulge such folly anyhow.

"Come over," she said. "I know it's Wednesday and it's already after eight and I'm not in the mood for sex, obviously. But I do quite fancy a cuddle."

He smiled, getting to his feet, "Give me twenty minutes."

"I'll pour you a drink."

* * *

Seventeen minutes later he was ringing her doorbell.

"Hi," she said, leaning against the doorframe, voice low, shoulders slumped.

"Good lord, now that's an uplifting expression," he said, stepping inside and kissing her forehead. "Bad day?"

"Fucking awful!"

"Elsie," he chided – Charles still lived in a world where women didn't curse – and shook his head. "Would a drink help?"

"Ah, but you see I'm already halfway down my second G&T."

"Mmm," he shrugged his coat off and hung it up and Elsie laughed.

"You're in your pyjamas?"

"I was already settled down for the night."

"Old man."

"I _am_ an old man… So, what would cheer you up? Cake? Should I fetch ice cream?"

She shook her head, patted her swollen tummy, "I feel bloated already, and unattractive."

He took a step closer to her, touching her cheek, tucking her hair behind her ear, "Not for a second. How about a massage?"

"Shoulders?"

"If that would help?"

She sat on cushions on the lounge floor, Charles behind her on the sofa, and Elsie positioned between his knees.

"So, let's see if I still have the magic then."

"Oh, I'm in for a treat am I?"

"Just you wait," he pressed his hands heavily on her shoulders.

"Wait," she loosened the tie on her robe and pushed it down to her waist. "There we go."

"Yeah, talk about offering a distraction," he placed a kiss to the back of her neck, hands sliding down her arms and around to her bare breasts.

"That wasn't part of the deal," she smiled, leaning back against him, his palms hovering over her sensitive nipples.

"Sorry," he kissed her head, her cheek, shifting his hands back to her shoulders. "Okay, let's try this."

Elsie closed her eyes, feeling completely relaxed as she melted into him.

"I was thinking about your birthday," she said, "and I've booked the table and all for the three of us. I just wondered how you felt about asking your mother to stay?"

"Here?"

"Yes, I mean, I thought it might be nice for both of you. She could come over Saturday night, we could have dinner, watch a film or play dominoes."

"I think she'd love it, getting out, company. She likes to feel important."

"Don't we all."

"She might… sometimes you know she doesn't sleep well; I don't want it to be an issue."

"It won't, don't worry, the more you worry the more stressful situations get. If you just hope for the best I'm sure it will go your way."

"Oh you think that, do you?" He squeezed a sensitive spot.

"Ow! Yes, I do," she giggled. "So, ask her, see what she thinks."

"I will. I'll call tomorrow and let you know."

"That's fine. So, how was your day darling?" She asked sarcastically.

"Long," he said, playing along, "spent a long time finalising details for this job."

"Spain?"

"A-ha… that spot?" He asked as she groaned.

"Yes, _that_ spot," She smiled.

Charles kissed the top of her head again, "See, I know your sighs now. That was definitely a 'I'd like some more of that please' sigh."

"Do I have different types?"

"Mm, subtle, but it's there. So, Spain?"

"Yes…?"

"Have you thought about it?"

She sighed, a very different type to the pleasurable one of minutes before, "Wouldn't I be imposing?" She asked; because that was her real concern, that she'd be in the way. "You're working; I don't want to…"

"I know, and I had thought of that. Because yes, I will be working, long days, or long evenings, I will get some time to myself. I can arrange days off."

"I don't want to impose –,"

"– I don't want you to feel ignored."

"If I don't come?"

"No, I mean, if you do and I'm working."

"Oh," she twisted her neck so he could get an aching spot.

"But you said you hadn't booked a holiday this year, and I just thought, it could be one, couldn't it? Sunshine, swimming, just relaxing. I'll have a suite; you wouldn't have to pay for a hotel."

"You'll have a suite?" She exaggerated.

"Part of the deal. I don't really do these things anymore."

She twisted round to look at him, moving to her knees. "You're _so_ in demand."

"You may mock but I am pretty good at my job, you know."

"Of that I have no doubt. You give excellent neck massages," she ran her hands down his legs. "I can't go away for a month, maybe five weeks you said?"

"Maybe."

"I have a business to run, my houses, the renovations…"

"I know."

"If I'm not here, I worry it won't be done how I like."

"I know that too," he pressed his hand on top of hers on his knee. "Just a suggestion. There's no pressure."

She twisted her mouth, watching his face, hearing his words from earlier. How sensitive he was on the phone, that he'd spent the past few days considering how it would be to have a child with her. Silly man. Silly, wonderful man.

"Maybe a week? I could come out for a week?"

He smiled broadly, "I'd like that."

"I'll see how things go, get a last minute flight – would that be okay?"

"Well, I don't plan on renting out the other side of the bed to anybody else."

"I should hope not," she squeezed his knee. "Wanna watch a film and cuddle?"

"Sure," he shrugged, nonchalantly, but feeling his heart soar at the suggestion.

* * *

 **Sunday 5** **th** **June**

Elsie stretched languidly, rolling over onto her back, pushing the sheets away from her face. For a few moments she lay still, waking slowly, her mind creeping into place, remembering where she was and what her plan for the day was.

As she glanced to the bedside clock, 8:24, she remembered – it was Charles' birthday – and she smiled as she thought of her plans.

It took her a while longer to realise he wasn't in bed with her, and that he wasn't in the bathroom neither.

She found her robe, tied up her hair into a messy bun, and headed downstairs.

To her relief it was another bright day; she'd planned for them to eat outside and she really didn't want anything to go wrong with any minute of the day. Beryl had the balloons and streamers so she could set all that up before they got there; she'd got Isobel to take flowers for the table and make sure it was laid with Charles at the head. She'd visited the pub earlier in the week and arranged with them that the table be moved to the other side of the fountain they had outside; that they would have a private spot – it cost her to do such a thing but, inevitably, it would be worth it.

The man himself was sitting in her garden, a pot of tea on the table, his legs crossed as he enjoyed the early morning sunshine.

She slid her hands to his shoulders, kissed his cheek, "Happy Birthday sweetheart."

"Ah, thank you," he twisted his head slightly to quickly kiss her mouth.

"You know; this wasn't how it was meant to go. I had plans for you. Breakfast in bed for a start. A cuddle, perhaps a kiss or two," she whispered by his ear.

"Come here," he pulled her round onto his lap and snuggled against her neck.

"Careful, I'm naked under this robe."

"Tease."

"Mmm, only for you," she kissed him again and they took their time, because kissing, quite simply, was wonderful. Kissing him, anyhow.

"Did you check on your mother?" She suddenly asked, leaving his mouth open against hers. "Sorry," she smiled, patting his shoulders, "just came to mind."

"Kinda ruined the moment, but yes, I checked on her before I came down; she was fast asleep, I'll take her a cup of tea up soon."

"Okay," she settled in his lap, one arm looped around his neck as she looked up the garden to where two birds darted across the damp grass. "I'm glad she slept through the night."

"Me too, I did worry."

"I know. Will she want to use the shower?"

"I doubt it; she's scared of them."

Elsie laughed lightly, "Scared?"

"Doesn't like the sensation of it, she says, prefers a bath but then she gets stuck in those. Joints don't work."

"We could get her in and out, if that's what she wants. We could lift her," she turned her face back to his, "in fact, you're strong enough to manage on your own. Lifted me before, or so I recall."

He jostled her a little on his lap, "I did, didn't I?" Leaning in he kissed her mouth, "carrying you naked to bed is quite a different thing though." He nuzzled her neck until she tilted her head back and he could kiss the soft, supple flesh there. "I want to be alone with you." He murmured.

"We'll be alone tonight," She placed her hands on either side of his face, palms covering his ears, "If you're staying?"

"Becoming a Sunday habit."

"Mmm," she kissed his forehead, "want your presents before we wake your mum?"

"Sure."

She hopped from his knee and disappeared inside, returning with three boxes wrapped in bright green paper. "Your favourite colour, see?"

"Thoughtful of you, and three gifts? I'm spoiled."

"Two are serious," she slid onto his knee again, "the other not so much."

"Intriguing." He put his tea cup down and took the first present from her, carefully unpeeling the tape that held the wrapping together. "Single Malt," he said, delighted as he turned the box over and read the label.

"It's from the distillery closest to my home, I mean where I grew up."

He held her gaze for a moment, "Then it means all the more," he said softly.

"Second present," she said eagerly, taking the whisky from his hand and placing it on the table.

The second was a flat box, rectangular in shape, and when he'd unwrapped it he had to lift the lid, revealing a smart new shirt.

"I thought perhaps for today," she said, "I really like you in this colour."

"Blue," he said, shaking his head as he unpeeled the packaging from it, "almost, cornflower blue…?"

Her eyes were bright, shining as she smiled at him. She shrugged, "Indulge me."

"Darling, I have a beautiful woman sitting on my lap in a gorgeous garden on a gorgeous June morning handing me presents – best birthday since I was ten and got the Cowboy party I'd always wanted. I'll indulge you anything."

She squeezed his arm, "Oh my goodness, I have a vivid image of you now in chaps and a fringed waistcoat."

"Don't get any ridiculous ideas."

"If only I'd known, we could've had an entirely different type of party."

"A party?" He queried, eyebrows raised.

"Shut up," she passed him the final gift.

"The silly one," he stated as he unwrapped it and lifted the lid from the small box to reveal a small teddy bear clad in a Butler's uniform.

"So, did I tell you that alongside running the business with me, Anna is a pretty talented little soul?"

"She made this?"

"She did. He's holding a wine bottle, see?"

Charles peered at the bear's hands – in one there was a glass, in the other, there was indeed a wine bottle.

"And if you look closely, when you've got your glasses on, you can see it says 'Elsie's', thought you could take it to Spain, remind you to come back…"

He was surprised by the sentiment of it, the fact she sounded so sincere.

"This was meant to be a silly gift?" He asked. "Far from it, it's a lovely thoughtful gift. And believe me, I need no reminder."

"Or incentive?"

"If you want to offer one I won't say no."

She playfully tickled his stomach, "Go wake your mother, we don't want to be late to the pub."

He frowned, "Aren't we a little over prepared for _just_ lunch with my mother?" He said knowingly.

"Now just you play along and put that nice shirt on for me, won't you?"

"Yes, I'll put the shirt on," he held the bear up, "what should I call him?"

"I don't know; you think about it."

She pressed a tender kiss to his cheek, "Happy Birthday." She got to her feet, tightening the belt on her robe. "I think I'll go get a shower and then I'll make some breakfast, if you want, anything you want."

"Slice of toast will be fine, don't want to ruin this _simple, laid back lunch_ ," he waggled his eyebrows at her.

"Course not." She headed inside the house, pausing at the door when he called her name.

"What about 'Hughes'…" he said coyly, "…for the bear?"

* * *

Elsie wore the most beautiful summery dress; pale blue, sleeveless, tight at the waist, a flared skirt – and as Charles watched her come down the stairs he felt a sense of pride; this was his girlfriend, his partner, and she'd dressed this way for his birthday lunch, to look good for him.

"Stunning," he said, not paying attention to the buttons on his cuff as he fiddled with them. "You look absolutely beautiful."

"Thank you, I hope the sun holds up."

"It's boiling out there, twenty-six degrees already, I won't be able to cope." He fussed with his shirt collar.

"You're so very English," she smiled, moving to help him loosen the top few buttons and expose his neck, "Better?"

"I can breathe."

"Which is vital," she smoothed her hands over his shoulders. "Leave your jacket here, you won't need it."

"You never know with British weather."

"The forecast said all good, in fact, glorious. Let's enjoy it."

He patted her bottom as she turned from him, "Oh, I am."

"Charles," his mother called from the kitchen. "I can't find the cheese."

"Cheese?" Elsie mouthed, brow creased as she followed him into the kitchen.

"Why do you need cheese, mum?"

"For the sandwiches, the picnic, I want cheese and pickle. Do you think we should have Piccalilli or Branston?"

"Mum, we're going out for lunch, remember?" He took the butter knife from her hand. "Elsie is taking us out for my birthday."

Margaret glanced between them, "Of course I remember," she said firmly.

"Do you want your cardigan on Margaret?" Elsie asked, checking the contents of her handbag, aiming to keep the atmosphere as easy-going as possible.

"I think I will Elly, I'll wear the purple one."

Charles glanced to where his mother's white cardigan hung on the back of a kitchen chair, "It's in her room I think sweetheart," Elsie said, without missing a beat.

"Right, I'll nip and get it before we leave." He dashed off upstairs and, as he left, Elsie felt Margaret's hand clasp her arm.

"I didn't get him anything," she exclaimed, "I meant to take it to the pub. What a terrible thing to have done, forgotten that."

She took hold of Margaret's hand, comforting it in hers, "Yes you did, you gave him those books, and he loved them." She said kindly, "He'll take them on the trip to Spain with him and enjoy every page."

Margaret smiled, "Thank goodness," she huffed, "he's terrible to buy for you know. Well, of course you know, you're his wife. Does my lipstick look okay?" She asked quickly.

Elsie almost choked, "Erm, I don't think… you haven't put it on yet."

"I like yours. Can I have yours? Share like when we were at school."

"Purple cardigan," Charles announced, returning to the kitchen.

"I'm wearing the white one," Margaret said. "Will you put it on for me dear?"

"The cardigan or the lipstick?" Elsie asked.

"Can't wear lipstick at my age, I'll look like a common prostitute."

Elsie shook her head, momentarily dazzled by the array of confusion, watching as Margaret headed through the patio doors and outside to the garden.

"She's confused this morning," Charles whispered, "it's staying elsewhere, I worried it might."

"You think she'll be okay, there's going to be a lot of people at lunch?" She bit her lip, glanced over her shoulder at him, "Sorry, I thought she'd be okay."

He smiled warmly, "She'll be fine once we get her sat down with a hot meal." He placed his hands on her shoulders, "Nice surprise."

"Act surprised though, won't you, when we get there?"

"Certainly," he kissed her forehead tenderly.

"She called me your wife," she said, before he'd pulled away from the kiss and she heard his sharp gasp.

"Oh. She did?"

Elsie nodded, "Slip of the tongue is all."

"Or wishful thinking…"

"Yes, well, we need to get going, we're expected at 1:00."

"You're driving?"

"I am, I can go without wine for one lunch," she grinned, lightening the mood. "Did you put your mother's bags in the boot? I'm assuming she'll be ready for home by the time we're done."

"I did."

"Good, oh and if she mentions giving you some books just agree, please."

He frowned, "Of course, I'll assume you have a reason. I'll go fetch her," he headed towards the back door, the purple cardigan hooked over one arm. He turned back, collected the white cardigan and hung that from his other arm, "Just in case," he smiled knowingly.

* * *

Elsie led the way into the beer garden; strangely nervous that all would be in place how she wanted, that people would be there, the food good, the atmosphere friendly… When they turned the corner, Margaret holding Charles' arm behind her, she broke into a wide smile as she noted the gathered group.

"Here he is," Charlie said loudly, "bout time. Happy Birthday mate," he raised his glass to Charles and the others joined in.

As requested, Charles adopted a suitably surprised expression. Elsie took hold of Margaret's hand and led her to the top of the table, seated beneath the shade of the umbrella and out of the direct sun.

"All these people," the older woman commented.

"For Charles' birthday," Elsie said, making sure Margaret was comfortable. "All his friends."

"There's Charlie," she said, pulling a face, "naughty boy that one, always getting into one scrape or another."

"You remember him?"

"Oh yes, and his wife, I remember what she did to my boy too."

Elsie glanced up, along the table, to the faces of the people she knew and those she didn't, scanning for Alice. She'd been nervous about inviting them, but then Robert had pointed out that Charlie was his oldest friend, it would be odd if he wasn't there.

"Hello darling," Beryl said, kissing her friend's cheek.

"Oh hi, thank you so much for this, the balloons look fab."

"Can you believe this day? It's so hot! Glorious."

"I know, it's lovely," she leant into Beryl and whispered, "I am worried it'll be too hot for Margaret though."

"We'll watch her," she assured her. "Make sure she drinks plenty of water. Going to introduce me?"

"Margaret," Elsie said, "this is my friend Beryl, she helped today."

"Hello," Margaret accepted the offered hand and shook it, "are we having dinner? I don't usually eat late."

Beryl laughed, "Me neither, and I like a nap after lunch too."

Margaret chuckled, "As do I."

"Would you like a drink, Margaret?"

"Something cold I think, it's very hot." She eyed the array of people in the garden, "who are all these folks?"

"Some are with us, others just here for Sunday lunch."

"Roast chicken," Margaret stated, shielding her eyes.

Elsie opened her handbag, taking out the extra pair of sunglasses, "Try these," she suggested.

She felt Charles' hand momentarily on her back as he walked around her, "All settled at the head of the table I see, mum." He dropped his jacket over the back of the chair to the right of her and Elsie put her things on the one across from him.

"Roast chicken," Margaret said again.

"I'm guessing that's your order," he smiled at Elsie, his expression grateful, "should we get drinks?"

"I was going; do you want beer or wine?"

"Beer, very cold," he rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm not great in heat."

"And you worked abroad."

She took the purse from her bag and when she looked up again a woman was moving behind Charles. Alice. Elsie watched how one arm circled his back, the other hand trailing up his arm as she kissed his cheek.

"Happy Birthday," she said, and Charles nodded, pulling away slightly.

Elsie's eyes focussed on where the woman's hand still lay upon Charles' arm, how pale she looked against Charles' brown, tanned skin. To the other guests it was a simple birthday hug, to her it seemed like a statement of ownership.

"Thanks," she heard Charles say, "you remember my mother, and this is Elsie."

Alice's hand left Charles' arm and she stretched across the table to shake Elsie's hand, "Yes, I do remember you, I think I've seen you at a few things in the past."

"Probably," Elsie replied, smiling, shaking the offered hand, "nice to really meet you though." She couldn't help but feel a seething streak of… _what?_ Jealousy perhaps? Annoyance for the way this woman had treated Charles all these years? It seemed very clear to Elsie that Alice was well aware of the allure she held for him, of her power over him, and that she'd used that whenever she wanted to – perhaps to boost her own confidence? Maybe because she was lonely? Maybe because she'd picked the wrong man? Who knew.

The one thing Elsie felt very keenly at that precise moment, was that she was feeling ever deeper in love with this man, which terrified her, and his words, _"I sometimes wonder if I'll ever stop,"_ in relation to loving her, to loving Alice, seemed to keep floating around her brain. Yes, she could admit she was jealous of that. Perhaps even angry about it.

"I'm going to the bar," she announced, "would you like anything, Alice?"

"No, I think Charlie's getting wine."

"Okay, I won't be long," she held Charles' gaze for a moment, feeling incredibly unsettled as she headed inside.

* * *

Elsie watched as Charles stood chatting to Robert and Mary; she smiled as he laughed at something they were saying. Farther along she followed Edith's gaze as she watched a young man – blonde hair, muscles – as he twirled a little girl around.

Isobel was sitting between Matthew and Richard, blissfully happy between her two men as they shared a post-lunch chat. Beryl was across from her, occupying Charles' empty seat, laughing with Margaret.

Behind her children splashed and squealed in delight as they chased each other in and out of the fountain.

She silently watched, taking in the quaint scene. The sun was high, the sky blue and cloudless, the air still – a perfect English day. They'd eaten well and all seemed happy. It was odd to her, to find herself the architect of such an event, to feel part of something, not on the outskirts of it.

How things had changed.

When she'd met Charles, she'd been deliberately sticking to the outside of groups at that party. Sliding along the wall to mutely escape the midnight celebration. Excusing herself from conversations where she felt out-of-place.

Now, she felt at the heart of it. She cared. That was the difference.

She heard Margaret sigh and shifted her gaze to her, noting the red cheeks, the uncomfortable expression.

"Come on," Elsie said, putting her napkin aside and reaching for Margaret's hand, "kick your shoes off."

"Whatever for?"

"We're going to cool off, come on," Elsie got to her feet, slipping off her sandals and treading barefoot onto the grass. She held out her hand for Margaret. "If the kids can get away with it then so can we."

Margaret squinted up at Elsie; she had no understanding of what was being offered to her, but there was something about this woman that made her feel safe.

"Where are you off to?" Charles asked, patting his forehead with a napkin as he returned to the table.

"To cool off," Elsie smiled, "welcome to join us."

She tucked Margaret's arm around hers and led her carefully across to the fountain.

Charles watched amused as the pair sat on the edge of the fountain, a low brick built enclosure that surrounded the central structure. Margaret bent slowly, moved cautiously, but soon she was sitting with her feet in the cool water watching the children splashing each other on the other side.

"Here," Sybil said from across the table to him, "she'll need some of this on."

Charles momentarily frowned, shifted his sunglasses and glanced at the label on the bottle – sun cream. "Good idea," he said, getting to his feet, "thanks."

"Going to the bar, Charles, you want another drink?" Charlie asked, slapping his old friend on the back.

"Yeah, you know what, I could really drink a nice, cold cider, see what they have."

"No problem, should I get something for them?" He indicated the two women in the water.

"Get the same actually, mum used to love cider when I was little."

"Your dad used to brew his own."

"God I remember, we used to sneak it." They both chuckled at the memory of the older Carson finding them as lads in his shed.

"She's nice," Charlie said, "very nice."

"She is," Charles replied, his voice gentle as he watched Elsie tie up her hair and rub at the back of her neck.

"And it seems to be going well?"

"Really well, actually… _really_ well."

"I'm happy for you," he squeezed Charles' shoulder, "It's about time."

Charles smiled, "Yeah, it is."

He watched Charlie turn and head back inside the pub, caught Alice's eye momentarily as she watched him from where she sat at the table, and then he turned back to Elsie.

"Right," he said striding over purposefully, "don't burn, mother."

"Charles, this is wonderful," Margaret said, "get in."

"I think I'm too big for it."

"Nonsense," Elsie said, getting to her feet and pushing her sunglasses up so she could see him properly, "You just think you're too old for it, that's more like it."

He smirked, rubbing the cream into his mother's shoulders and down her arms, "I _am_ too old for it."

She took the bottle of cream from him and put some on her own bare arms, "Do my neck would you?"

Elsie turned her back to him, the water shifting around her ankles as she backed up in it. He rubbed the backs of her arms to make sure she was covered and dropped a kiss to her neck before he gently applied the cream.

"Wonderful day," he whispered, "thank you."

She twisted round to look at him, her glasses dangling from one hand as she kissed him, "You're welcome. Now get in the water."

"Lord you're bossy," he perched on the wall, pulled loose the tie on his shoes and slipped them off, rolling off his socks too and popping them inside the shoes.

"Roll up your trousers," Margaret instructed, and he did as she said, turning round on his seat and dropping his feet in next to hers. "There you go," she said, "isn't it nice." She hooked her arm around his and leant her head against his shoulder.

Elsie slipped her glasses back on, watching them; Margaret had closed her eyes and Charles eased his arm around her back glancing up at Elsie as he did so. She squeezed his shoulder as she passed him, "Won't be a second," she said, getting out of the water and heading back to the table to find her shoes.

"Elsie honey," Isobel said, joining her, "Richard and I have to go, we need to change and pack, he's got this conference in London tomorrow and our train leaves at seven."

"Oh yes, I forgot you were going with him," she returned Isobel's hug, kissing her cheek, "that's fine, thank you so much for coming. I needed the moral support."

"It went well though," Isobel smiled, "he's happy." She squeezed her friend's hands in hers, " _you're_ happy."

"I'm glad he's enjoyed his birthday, that's all."

"Hmm, of course," she hugged her again. "You should go to Spain with him," she whispered, "I'll call you next week."

"Alright, have a safe trip." She waved to Richard and watched them leave.

The afternoon was wearing on, the others would be leaving too, but it had been a good day and she was pleased he was happy, and that his mother was there too, that seemed even more important.

She watched the pair of them in the water, content together, and she was grateful for that too.

* * *

It was just after nine when Elsie headed outside to her back garden, barefoot and with a glass of whisky in each hand. Charles was swaying gently on the swing seat, his eyes closed, he looked tired but happy.

She placed the drinks on the table and sat at the opposite end of the seat, drawing her legs up as she laid back and smiling when he automatically lifted his arms and let her rest her legs over his lap. His fingers set to gliding up and down her shins and she too closed her eyes, enjoying the evening warmth, the fact it was still fairly light but dusky, the day melting away.

"Thank you," he said gruffly some time later.

"For?"

"Today, it's been…" he opened his eyes, glanced down at her and grinned, "as my Grandpa used to say, _it's been grand lass_."

She chuckled, "That's a very Yorkshire thing to say."

"But genuine."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it."

"The sight of you and my mother in that water," he laughed.

"And the disapproving look on Mary's face," Elsie pointed out, shifting her skirt slightly so he could tickle higher.

"She's not so bad," he said, "she comes across one way, she isn't so… well…"

"Cold?" Elsie prompted, but then quickly moved on when he frowned. "I wasn't sure whether to invite Charlie, but Robert gave me his number and you did say he was one of your oldest friends."

"I'm glad you invited him, he _is_ my oldest friend, and, aside from Alice, he's always been a good friend. Same can't be said for me."

She reached down to squeeze his hand where it rested on her knee; there was plenty she felt she could say about Alice, but she bit her lip, held it in restraint.

"It's nice see, isn't it," she said, sitting up to reach for her whisky, "this swing?"

"Very nice," he agreed.

"See how that plant is growing," she pointed a finger towards a tall, black pot with a slender green plant gracefully arching over the sides of it. "It almost died last year, I cut it right back, replanted it this year into a bigger pot and look how it's bloomed."

"It looks like a type of Yucca," he said, twisting his head to look at it. "And it does look very healthy, you're right. You like gardening, don't you?"

She shrugged, "I guess so. I like pottering on a Sunday afternoon, I find it soothing, relaxing. And I'm proud," she smiled, waving an arm up the garden, "it looks good now."

He chuckled, "Do you realise how good _you are_ for me?" He rubbed her leg again, his eyes kind before he closed them and leaned his head back.

They sat in silence for a while, Charles gently tilting them back and forth on the swing, the birds tweeting in the branches above them. It was calm. Still.

"So, I changed my mind on the car," she said softly after a while.

"Good," he said abruptly.

"Why?"

"Well, because…" His honest opinion was that she already drove too fast and, at times, recklessly; throw a sports car into the mix and she'd be lethal. "Seemed expensive," he settled on.

"Oh!" She laughed, sitting up a little so she could look at him more squarely. "Well, the money wasn't the thing, instead I've decided to put in a hot tub."

"What?" He couldn't hold back the shock from his voice. "What on earth for?"

"What do you mean, 'what for?' For me, for fun."

"Do you really need one?"

"Nobody really needs anything, do they?" She finished her whisky. "So, I was thinking it could go there," she pointed to the far corner of the patio. "I've got an idea in my mind about how I want it to look, just need somebody to sketch it out then I'll get my builder on it."

He shook his head, eyebrows raised.

"What?" She smiled, a teasing glint to her eye.

"You have some odd ideas, Ms Hughes."

"I prefer to think of them as 'unique.' However," she wiggled her toes prompting him to return to rubbing her feet. "You may use it, if you're nice to me."

"I'm always nice to you."

"Well, we shall see," she smiled, "at least you don't have a hairy back, I don't like that."

"You don't like hairy backs?"

She wrinkled her nose, "Not at all, especially submerged in water, I think of all the possible things that could be hiding there…" she shivered and pulled a face.

"Well, I'm very glad I'm not hairy then," He chuckled.

"As am I. What are you glad I don't have?"

"A hairy back!" He said quickly and they both laughed.

She pulled her feet back onto his legs, bent her knees. "Was good to see you with your mother."

"It was good actually, she seemed to enjoy it, and I think it's healthy for her to get out of the home."

"I agree. We still need to make our trip to Scarborough."

"I'd forgotten about that," he squeezed her feet.

"Maybe now the weather's picked up, we could go before you leave for Spain."

"Ah yes, that little thing," he cast his eyes to her face; she looked flushed, pink from the sun, healthy, eyes bright. "I'll be exhausted, not used to working every day."

"I'm sure you'll love it," she deliberately wiggled her heels in his lap, "it's getting late."

"Is that a hint?"

She shrugged, "Perhaps." She sat up slowly, deliberately pushing her chest forward, feeling his eyes on her breasts, imagining his palms cupping them. "I'm going to go to bed, if you want to stay out here…" she got up, leaning over to kiss him, "…then you're welcome. Otherwise..."

* * *

Elsie's bedroom had become something of a haven to him. Her bed, this wondrous world of discovery; a soft cloud cradling him in its comfort; a paradise. A harbour, an anchor, a boat upon ever shifting waters.

"You're incredible," he panted, as her mouth moved over him, her hands on his belly, her hot breath, the scent of her.

His hands reached down, fingers stroking through her hair; his strong spine lifted him forward and he grasped at her hips, pulling her up, guiding her legs around his waist as their bodies joined, mouths pressing together hungrily, passion and lust combined with something much deeper, much more vital to life.

Elsie's mind was hazy as he turned them over, settled her back on the pillows. She twisted her head, breathed in the scent of his cologne upon the pillows, felt his skin beneath her fingertips.

"Charles…" She breathed as he moved inside her again, and his mouth found hers.

They were cocooned together now, wrapped together. His body tight against hers, her breasts squashed against his chest, mouths only parting when the need for air became insistent. Her thighs tight around him, heels digging into his back as she groaned and breathed and sighed and ground out his name. He was so close to her. So close.

"Elsie," he mumbled into her ear, gasping, "God, Elsie…"

"Yes, I want…" his mouth covered hers again, tongues tasting the other. His lips shifted across her face, he moved deeper, pushed her higher, mouth on her neck. "I lo –," she gasped, squeezed her eyes shut, nails in his shoulders as ultimate pleasure sank into her stomach, rolled down her veins, along her legs, into her soul.

Against her he pushed, stilled, called out. Held her ever tighter.

Oh God. She was lost. Absolutely, unbelievably, painfully lost.

He sank against her, cradled in her arms, head on her breasts as his pulse slowed and his heart drifted. He was close to sleep and she knew that.

As she held him – stroked his back, kissed his head – she couldn't help but feel so alone, so vulnerable. And this was love. This was what she recalled of love. A terrifying slither of something moving through your body that you couldn't control. Of being tied to another, dependent on them.

Charles soon slept; joyful and sated after a perfect birthday.

Elsie lay awake, holding him; this man who had turned everything inside out.

* * *

 _Well, I'd love it if you let me know what you think... x R_


	18. Chapter 18

_So, now that you've read chapter 17 I can address the pregnancy thing. It was never in my plans for Elsie to get pregnant – some readers picked up on things and felt she was. 1 of those things is dealt with in this chapter; the 2_ _nd_ _(her bigger breasts) was a throwaway line – something my Gran actually says to my mum and we always laugh about it because it's so forward and personal and she'll just blurt it out and I figured Beryl might do something similar!_ _Anyhow, it did mean I had to alter things slightly and address that in the previous chapter. Sorry to those of you wanted a baby!_

 _And now, we can move forward. I hope you enjoy. x_

* * *

 **Chapter 18**

' _ **I tear my heart open, I sew myself shut  
**_ _ **My weakness is that I care too much  
**_ _ **And my scars remind me that the past is real  
**_ _ **I tear my heart open just to feel'**_

* * *

 **Saturday 11** **th** **June**

The Saturday after Charles' birthday Elsie spent with the girls. It was a last minute thing, something she organised Thursday night when ringing round them all in a fit of…well, she couldn't exactly label her mood at the moment.

At times she felt angry with him. Either because he'd made her fall in love with him. Or because he didn't appear to love her back. Or because of his dick-like life-long affection for Alice. She wasn't quite sure why it bothered her so much all of a sudden. It wasn't as if he'd hidden it, she'd known from the start. Maybe that made it worse. There was something quite soul destroying in knowing as much as a man cared for you somebody else was held in higher regard.

Other moments she'd mentally whip herself – she was the foolish one. They'd never intended for this to be love. She certainly hadn't. They'd planned on it being fun, dating, having someone to go places with. He hadn't asked her to grow so close, to feel the need to talk to him every day or arrange his birthday party or take him to bed to make love over and over. And she _did_ want to make love. She knew that all too well. This was different to the others.

Frustration. Perhaps that was the feeling. Or stupidity.

She huffed as she stared at herself in the bathroom mirror, leaning in close to get a good look at the lines beneath her eyes. She felt decidedly old tonight. Sapped of energy and really, well, really very lonely.

The beat of the music in the outer room seemed to reverberate through her chest, her feet ached in the heels she was wearing and she felt a tad uncomfortable in the skimpy top. It clung, and since her visit to the Doctor she felt like some old woman, not someone who should be wearing skimpy, cleavage-bearing tops.

"Bloody hell, not done this kind of stuff in a while," Beryl said as she came out of the toilet cubicle, pulling her skirt into place and checking it in the mirror. "Drinks cost a fortune in here."

"Don't they just?" Elsie said, reapplying her lipstick.

"Tell me you're gonna dance when we get back out there," Beryl said, stealing perfume from Elsie's bag. "I can't keep up with those young two."

"Erm, you seem to be doing a pretty good job," Elsie insisted, pulling at face at Beryl's reflection in the mirror. "And somebody has to keep Izzy company."

"Pining for her man. We'll let her off at eleven for good behaviour, send her back to him."

Elsie laughed, pinching the inside of her palm with her thumb nail; she kept thinking of Charles and the hurt tone in his voice when she'd told him she was busy this weekend.

She trooped out of the bathroom behind Beryl, careful not to catch her heel in the bottom of the black trousers she was wearing and trip. The bright lights of the club flashed across her eyes and she focussed on Beryl's shoulders in order to make it back to their table.

Isobel had ordered more drinks and Elsie sank into the leather booth and picked up one of the shot glasses, downing it quickly – eyes closed, throat burning, heart thumping.

Isobel watched her steadily, slunk along the seat closer to her, "Tell me again why we're out tonight?" She said by her ear.

"To have some fun," Elsie said, leaning forward and refilling their glasses with white wine.

"And you're not out with Charles because…?"

"We aren't glued at the hip."

"Aren't you?" Isobel laughed, "This is the first Saturday in months where you haven't been doing something with him."

"Have I neglected you all?" Elsie said, folding her arms across her chest, her wine glass dangling from her fingers.

"That's not what I mean, you just seem…" She paused as Anna, Beryl and Ethel bustled back to the table, and then leant in even closer, turning her face away from the others. "Remember I know you, and you're trying to numb something."

Elsie turned her face around to Isobel's, her eyes stricken, dark. She felt Isobel's hand clamp onto her arm.

"So, boss," Ethel said, her hip butting Elsie's as she cosied up to her. "How's about we go for food after this?"

"She's got a point," Beryl said, helping herself to one of the shots. "Let's get pizza."

"Or better, Indian," Anna chimed in.

"We can go back to mine," Elsie said, shifting away from Isobel.

"Is your giant of a man not waiting at home for you?" Beryl said and she saw Ethel giggle. "What? He is a giant?"

"Our Alfie calls him that, that's all," the younger woman said, "Giant Carson."

"Can we talk about something else?" Elsie's tone was quick, "This is meant to be a man free night."

"Quite true," Anna agreed, tapping her glass against Elsie's.

* * *

Isobel did indeed excuse herself and when Beryl and Anna took to the dancefloor again Elsie found herself alone with her newest worker. She didn't find it especially easy to chat to Ethel, the girl seemed flirtatious, outgoing, and not at all used to doing a day's work.

But still, Elsie had learned one thing in her life and that was that everyone made mistakes, and everyone deserved a second chance. Sometimes even a third.

"How are you finding it?" She asked as casually as she could.

"The club?" Ethel frowned and then realisation hit, "Ohh the job, yeah it's better than the coffee shop, much better! And this is good, fun, spending time with you both outside of work." She leaned back in her seat, folding her legs at the ankles, "I know you only hired me because of Mr Carson, I do realise that." She shrugged, "I was grateful to him. He's a kind man."

Elsie was going to respond, to sing of his virtues, but she bit it back instead and only nodded.

"I know you two, you and Anna, well you don't really…" she scrunched up the napkin on the table, "Look I know how I appear. I'm not stupid."

Elsie felt decidedly uncomfortable, her skin prickle with guilt – she had indeed judged Ethel, many times over the past few weeks. "Neither of us think you stupid," she said. "I do realise it's not… I mean I can't possibly understand, but I do realise it can't be easy, with two young children."

"And living with your in-laws," she rolled her eyes. "My father-in-law is an old man with an expanding waistline and a poor sense of humour, and like most old men he's a miserable old bastard with it."

Elsie felt a smile tug at her lips; Ethel was drunk, but she couldn't fault her forthrightness.

"Oh I think I'm familiar with that particular trait," she said.

"That's why I'm glad to be out tonight," she swirled the wine in her glass. "I don't actually have many friends, not here, and I was just kinda surprised that you two asked me to come, you know. I needed a night out."

Elsie twisted her mouth as she watched this young girl, she realised just how young she was as she sat beside her, close enough to note there was not a blemish on her skin, not a line on the beautiful face.

"Your husband…" Elsie started, then stopped herself realising she actually knew very little about this situation, how fresh it was, how raw it was.

"Charles?"

Elsie nearly choked, "Your husband was called Charles?"

Ethel smiled, nodding, "Yes, I know, bloody ridiculous. That's why Charlie, you see, for the baby."

"Oh yes, I do see." She covered Ethel's hand with her own, "I'm very sorry."

"For what?"

"His death, your loss."

"Yeah, well… he was a bit of a bastard too actually, as it turned out." She looked up at Elsie, wide-eyed, "People don't tell you, do they, what marriage can be really like? You think it's all romance and shit, then the kid comes along and he's off in some other country training and pretty soon he's shagging about."

"Well then I really _am_ sorry."

"Liked to be heart of the party, Charles did, the big man, you know…handy with his fists…"

"Yes, I think I'm aware of that particular trait too," she said softly.

"I did cry, when he was killed, I don't want you to think me some cold bitch. Not warfare you know, some accident at base when they were training. Truth be told, I'm better off now, without him, got a nice pension to come and stuff. But it's not easy with two children and so I ended up back here and living with them and now I suffer the daily judgement. I need my own place really."

Elsie frowned, "I'm sorry if you feel we judged you, Anna and I."

Ethel slumped one shoulder – up, down, "Doesn't really matter. It is what it is. I think I'm getting there now, with the job. And I truly am grateful for it, to you and Charles." She took a gulp of her wine, "Now _he's_ a decent Charles."

"He is," Elsie agreed, feeling the beating muscle in her chest spasm at the thought of his hands on her body. "I know what it is to feel judged too. To make mistakes and have those closest to you beat you with them." She squeezed Ethel's hand, "Don't feel afraid to be vulnerable though, you don't have to be tough all the time."

If it were possible, she would have beaten herself round the head, or slapped herself in the face at the hypocrisy of her words. What a fucking hypocrite she was! Giving advice on opening up to people and there she was backing away from this man because getting close was too damn scary. It made her risk too much, it could possibly cost her too much.

She leant back in her seat, feeling her head swirl with the amount of alcohol she'd put away. God she wished she was at home with him.

She fussed in her bag for a tissue, turned over her phone to glance at the time – a quarter to one in the morning. There was an unread message and she flicked her fingers over it; it had come in at 22:00 exactly. Charles: _Miss you. Hope you're having a fun time without this old codger xxx._

Her fingers slid back and forth over the words until Anna grabbed her wrist, startling her.

"Got a taxi waiting outside, let's go eat."

"It's nearly 1:00," Elsie exclaimed.

"And you only live once. Come on."

* * *

 **Sunday 12** **th** **June**

"Oh shit," Elsie gasped, leaning over the sink, gripping the porcelain side as her eyesight blurred.

"You okay?" Charles asked weakly, gripping the flower stems nervously as he watched her.

It was three in the afternoon and he'd just woken Elsie, rousing her from her comatose state when he'd rang the doorbell.

"I think, that maybe I just might be dying," she mumbled. "I'm going to be sick."

"Here," Charles said quickly, depositing the flowers on the kitchen table and moving behind her. He turned on the cold tap and filled the bowl in the sink, placing Elsie's hands in it, "Old trick mum used to use with Dad, see if it helps. You got any peppermint tea?"

"I don't know if I have a body let alone flavoured tea."

"Okay," he ignored her dismissive tone and searched the cupboards, found an old box of teabags at the back of the cupboard and set to making her a mug. "Your head hurt?"

"Like never before," she moaned. "Oh my god, the thought of tequila…"

" _Don't_ think about it," he found out tablets, filled a glass of water and stood beside her – the glass in one hand, the pills in the palm of his other.

Elsie took her hands from the water, swallowed the pills and groaned. "I need to lie down."

"You're going back to bed?"

"I'm sorry – it's so rude but I can't." She swayed again, "What a fucking idiot, I know I'm too old for this."

Charles pursed his lips, "I can bring the tea up. You know we had that… Never mind."

"We had what?" She shuffled across the kitchen, tightening her dressing gown around her.

"We were meant to have drinks later today with Cora and Robert."

"Oh god, I'd forgotten," she turned to face him, "You didn't remind me, we must've discussed that a couple of weeks ago."

"We did, and well, I haven't seen you this week, have I…?"

He let the words hang there, let her just mull on it for a moment.

"Not since last Sunday, and that was a great day Elsie…"

"Seems longer than a week."

"Yes," he bit down on his tongue, confused as to why it had been a week since he'd seen her. They'd both been busy but really there was no excuse, they'd usually make the effort. "This weather's been awful too, bloody rain."

"Yeah…they couldn't finish tiling the roof for it." She rubbed her forehead.

"Go to bed, I'll bring your tea."

She did as he instructed and he took his damp coat off – it seemed that following a week of glorious sunshine rain had set in and June was set to be a washout. It occurred to him, as he took his shoes off at the door, that it was usually Elsie who arranged their meetings.

He took his time carrying the tea up with this very thing on his mind.

She usually rang him, or texted, and booked tables or tickets or whatever. He'd been pretty lacklustre in that department since they'd settled into a routine. She'd never complained, but then women could be like that – inside she could be seething over his seeming lack of interest and he'd not find out until one day when it'd just explode in some huge argument.

He'd been in that position more than once.

A smidgen of guilt slithered into his brain and as he sat beside her on the bed, pressing a cold cloth to her forehead, he thought it best he restore her confidence in him.

"I'll apologise to them, say you're under the weather, excuse us."

"I don't mind if you go," she mumbled. "I'm not going to be much company I'm afraid."

"That's okay, I don't mind." He glanced down at her, realising she was naked beneath the sheets; her dressing gown slung over the bottom of the bed, last night's clothes abandoned on the floor. "You want to go out in the week instead, maybe just me and you? Maybe lunch one day?"

"A-ha," she murmured.

He shuffled down the bed, lying beside her, one arm across her stomach. "I'll pick somewhere nice," he placed a gentle kiss to her cheek. "I won't stay too long," he assured her.

"I'm sorry," she said again, "I feel terrible – I don't mean just ill, terrible for forgetting."

"Don't, it's okay. You are steering an empire."

She smirked at that, "Yeah, right. How's the Spanish plans going?"

"Bueno! I leave on the 29th."

"Of June?" She mentally counted the days in her head.

"Yep, not long, I've been frantically making lists this week. Getting prepared. Hotel is all booked, got my suite, it's pretty impressive."

"Send me the link so I can look at the pictures."

"Will it persuade you to definitely come?" He asked lightly, kissing the side of her head.

"Maybe…yes…" she breathed, "I feel ill Charles."

"Okay, you want to go to the bathroom?"

"I think I need to," she finally opened her eyes, squinting in the light and tentatively sitting up. "I don't want you to see me like this," she said as she hobbled out of bed and headed to the en-suite.

"I'll stay here."

"Put the telly on loud," she instructed as she shut the bathroom door.

He did as she asked, settling back to drink his own tea and watch the afternoon Colombo. "I'll go soon," he said again.

When she crawled back into bed he handed her the tea and she drank it straight down, slid down in the bed and cuddled up against him.

"You want me to turn this off?" He asked, one arm looping around her shoulders.

"No, I'm listening to the plot."

"Okay," he stroked her back and she slept against him as he watched the show.

* * *

In the evening she got up for a shower and he made toast: wholemeal bread, butter, marmite on his – they sat in bed eating it and watched the news.

He didn't end up going at all. In fact, as the night wore on, it became pretty obvious to both of them that he'd be spending another Sunday night with her. He used the shower, cleaned up downstairs and by the time he got in bed she was asleep again. He didn't mind, cuddling her was good enough and at least she felt – and looked – a hundred times better than when he'd arrived that afternoon.

They woke in the early hours, having spent most of the day sleeping on and off, naked and wrapped around each other. Charles was pressed up against her back, his erection against her bottom, and as she woke slowly and lethargically, the thrill of making love to him seemed so wonderfully perfect she rolled onto her back, pulling him over her.

He was sleepy, dozy, but more than eager. It had been a week since he'd touched her and she was like some drug he couldn't get enough of.

Outside it rained and rained. Thick and heavy against the window, thudding against the drainpipe. The beat of it, a constant drone, seemed to keep rhythm with her heart, with their movements as their bodies joined time and again. Hands folded together, fingers caressing the others. Slumber filled kisses.

"You feel so good," he gasped against her ear, his voice abundant with desire, clumsy with sleep. "You make me feel so good."

She didn't speak. It was a week since they'd done this and she'd scared itself with the potential impact of her silly words. She'd realised she needed to take a step back from him, give herself time and space…but this… he was there and she didn't want him to leave.

Not in the morning.

And certainly not in two weeks time.

* * *

 **Wednesday 15** **th** **June**

They had lunch mid-week, after Charles had asked every night during their phone calls if she was free. She felt bad for putting him off, guilty. And a bit bloody ridiculous too if she was honest with herself. Because of course she wanted to see him too; she was missing him after only a few days, how the hell was she going to make it through five weeks?

"I didn't think I'd be doing this again," she said, popping a pill out of the blister pack.

Charles poured two glasses of water, glancing around nervously to make sure nobody could see what she was doing.

"What?" She looked around the restaurant, expecting to see somebody they knew. "Are you embarrassed?" She almost laughed as she picked up her glass and took the pill. "For god's sake Charles, they could just be headache tablets."

"I know that," he said defensively, folding his hands on top of the table.

" _You're_ embarrassed by the fact I have to take precautions to make sure we can have sex without having a little accident?" She shook her head, swapping her glass of water for a wine. "Let me remind you…"

He cut her off, "Don't be mean," he said, sitting back in his chair.

She bit her lip, "I wasn't being mean."

"I told you I don't mind…using…you know." He shrugged – he didn't particularly want to be having this conversation at all, let alone in a restaurant at lunchtime. "It's up to you."

"Don't put it on me. Christ I feel like I'm 24 again and trying to figure out how best to please some spotty youth."

"You see, that's mean. I didn't say I don't care or I'm not willing to discuss it. The _problem_ ," he altered his choice of words, "the _thing_ is you didn't seem to want to discuss it with me. You visited the Doctor over a week ago, you've hardly told me a thing about it."

"Yes," she exhaled, sitting forward so she could whisper. "Because maybe _I'm_ embarrassed. It wasn't exactly the most pleasant of discussions. And I really don't want to sit with my lover of six months to tell him I'm in the early stages of menopause."

"Is that all I am?"

She looked away from his gaze, his intense, kind eyes that seemed to draw things from her.

"Look," she said, circling the rim of her wineglass with her thumb. "The Doctor basically said that we need to take care." She huffed, this really wasn't the most comfortable of conversations to have. "Bluntly –,"

"Yes?"

"She said I'm likely in perimenopause, which is the bit before the actual, final 'oh my god my life as a woman is over'."

"Elsie, don't make jokes."

She smiled at him, "I'll have menopausal symptoms – such as the tender breasts, hot flashes, my moods…" she let that lie. "But we need to take care because it's still possible to get caught."

Charles mirrored her posture, leaning across the table to her, "And I really don't mind sticking with…" his voice was barely a murmur, "…condoms." He flexed his fingers, testing the waters by touching the tips of her fingers; she seemed to have been short with him over the past week or so.

Elsie watched his thumb stretch to brush over hers, she turned her hand, let his palm fall over hers.

"I don't want to," she admitted. "I feel –," she swished her tongue around in her mouth, torn between wanting to open up to him and wanting to step back. "I feel incredibly close to you and I feel like this…"

He smiled, "The dreaded 'r' word?"

She actually chuckled despite how incredibly anxious she felt, "Yes, that. I feel we're in a relationship and it makes me feel closer to you, I think it brings us intimacy."

"It makes me feel like you trust me," he said bravely. "That we trust each other. That we aren't going to go off and sleep with somebody else."

"This seems a very grown up conversation."

"I am fifty-seven now, you can't get much more grown up."

"Well then," she sat back, pulling herself together in a second, "I will take the pills and we will plod along and see what happens."

He squeezed her hand, "Good," he said, before refilling their wine glasses.

"I'm starving," she admitted. "You know I avoid bread but I think I'm going to have to…" she took a roll from the bread basket and tore it in half, lightly spreading it with butter.

"I do not avoid bread," he said jovially, helping himself to a second roll.

By the time the waiter brought their salads the mood at the table had lifted and Charles was happily recounting a story from his past; when Mary was nine and decided she was leaving home because her father was a bully and she was going to move in with Mr Carson instead because he did the best voices when reading Roald Dahl. It lasted three hours, then she got bored of the fact Charles was working and his flat had very little in the way of childish entertainment.

He drove her home and had tea with the family.

"You see, your connection with Alfie stretches back – you've always been good with kids," she enthused.

Charles pulled a face, "I think not."

"I beg to differ, that boy adores you."

"He just needs a male figure that doesn't turn out to be a total bastard."

"Yes," she said gently, pushing her wine glass away. "That too. But then, don't we all?"

He licked his lips, nervous at the tone in her voice. "You want to order coffee?" He asked, hoping she'd say yes; he didn't want to part just yet.

"Sure, best not have any more wine…" She brushed a hand through her hair, "God and I need to apologise, I feel so embarrassed."

"For?"

"Getting so bloody drunk, what an old idiot."

He chuckled, "It doesn't matter."

"I was horrendous; you don't need to be polite."

He took her hand in his again, "Believe me, you never could be 'horrendous'."

"Oh I was," she shook her head, "haven't been like that in years. Thank you though, for taking care of me."

"You're very welcome. It was far from horrendous in the middle of the night, if I recall correctly."

"No," her voice was low as she remembered, "that wasn't at all…"

* * *

 **Tuesday 21** **st** **June**

When Charles was young he never really stopped to think about what it meant to be a man. He didn't question his role in life, his position, he just _did_. It wasn't until time passed that he realised the way women viewed men wasn't always great.

Not that they helped themselves.

He'd known many a man over the years who had 'played away', as they liked to call it. He found it awkward - when he was out with a group he knew exactly which men were dating, or even engaged, or (worse still) married, and even if it didn't go any further than flirtation it was still there. The loaded comment. The wandering hands.

It made him look at himself. His behaviour with Alice. And it did sicken him. That wasn't him, he would never cheat on a girlfriend, ever. When he was with someone he was with them. Even if it was just the early, casual stages of dating he'd still not risk it.

When he was twenty-seven and found himself in bed with his oldest friend's wife it shocked him. To walk away, to go home alone after, and to find himself in his shower with his face pressed against the tiles hating himself – now that was hard.

Perhaps it was the reason he'd spent so many years working abroad, if he was absent from their lives then he didn't have to hold himself in anyway accountable.

And it meant he could brush thoughts of William to the back of his mind. Pretend that the boy didn't exist. That he wasn't living day-to-day with no knowledge of his existence.

But yet, when Alice called him and asked if he'd meet her, his answer was an immediate yes. He went running. Just as he had all his life it seemed.

He'd been in town as it was, working his way through the list of essentials for his trip. He was old hat at it, and really packing took no time at all, but he was rather enjoying just wandering about the town centre when the call came.

Would he meet her for a bite to eat? He was hoping to have dinner with Elsie so no, really, he didn't want a large lunch. But he could do coffee, perhaps a slice of cake to see him through until the evening.

Less than an hour later he was in a café with her, watching her face as she chatted on to him about her life – the kids, the business, the home. She'd always been, and still was, quite beautiful. Blonde. Dark eyes, like molten chocolate he often thought. Petite. Every feature sharp and defined.

When his phone bleeped at him he'd slipped it out of his coat pocket with an apologetic shake of his head and drew his thumb over the screen, popping on his glasses at the same time – a text from Thomas confirming travel arrangements. He closed the message, smiled at the image of Elsie on his screen. He could remember exactly the moment she'd become his screensaver; lying in bed with her in his arms and she'd been flicking through photographs on her phone from their day out together visiting Goddards House and there was one shot he'd loved and bid her email it to him. She'd done so. Then the following day he'd spent over an hour trying to work out how to change his screensaver to her. He felt like quite the champion when he'd finally achieved it and celebrated with a pint down the pub with Robert.

"Anything important?" Alice asked.

He cast his glance back to her, slid his phone to the table, "Just Thomas, travel stuff for Spain."

"Ah, I see."

He thought how contrasting they were – Elsie and Alice. Not just in looks but manner too. Alice could be quiet, soft, you had to work hard to get things from her. But she was gentle in her flirtation; in his darker moments he thought himself a fly caught in her web, being spun in silk, trapped in silk. Elsie could be bold. Outwardly so anyhow. She touched his arm a lot, kissed his cheek in public, and laughed, she laughed all the time. She could be fierce. Sharp. Independent to the point of making him feel redundant. Alice made you feel like she needed you to save her. Like even Charles Carson could be a prince.

Elsie's eyes were like the sea, blue yet ever changing. She was freckled and curvaceous in his arms. Alice had always been small in the breast department, bigger slightly now, after childbirth and passing years. Elsie dressed for her figure. And she always smelled so good, vibrant, modern. If you could smell modern. She mixed her perfume up, even a fool like he could tell that. Sometimes rich and luxurious on nights out, calmer in the day, a spike of citrus or a spray of something candy-like. Alice had always been vanilla.

"You're going away for a while then," she said, refilling their tea cups.

"Yes, July, maybe five weeks."

He noted how Alice's eyebrows rose slightly, "And how does she feel about that? Elsie?"

He rolled his tongue over in his mouth, "Well," he smiled, tried to laugh, "I think she'll miss me."

Alice smiled in return, "I'm sure she will. And you, will you miss her?"

"Undoubtedly," he said, without even giving himself a second to think. "I'm actually hoping she might come over and visit, a week or so."

"Oh right. Why might she not?"

"Work. She's very busy at the moment, just purchased two new properties which she's having renovated. She's quite the entrepreneur."

"She is? Impressive." She sipped her tea. "And it seems to be going very well with her."

He nodded, leaning back in his chair, folding his legs casually. "I feel very happy, Alice, to be honest."

She sat forward as he leant back, "I noticed that. In fact I haven't seen you like this, not with a woman."

"It's about time, don't you think?" He picked up his fork, dug into the piece of chocolate cake that was left on his plate.

"It is." She agreed.

Charles felt her watching him, as if she were turning over some thought in her head, mulling on what to say. And for the first time he wondered of her motives for this meeting.

"Okay, I'll be back, just need the bathroom," she said, folding her napkin on the table.

"Alright," he put his fork down again, pushed the plate away and watched her navigate her way around tables to the other side of the café. He noted the way she turned, the way her hair fell, the curve of her backside in the dress she wore – it made him think of Elsie.

He thought of her smile, her laugh, the light in her eyes when they were cuddling. Holding her body in his arms.

He'd had sex with Alice twice and each time he'd left with a sense of dread. Of bitter disappointment in himself, of feeling like his spleen was splitting open.

With Elsie it was heaven. Completeness.

He fished around in his pocket for his glasses again, picked up his phone and opened his messages.

" _Without sounding too desperate, PLEASE say you are indeed free for dinner later… I'll try to make it worth your while. xxx"_

He turned the phone over in his hand as he waited for a response; Elsie was usually quick with communication, quicker than him anyhow.

His heart thumped hard when her response came in and he was smiling even before he'd read the full thing: _"You really need to work on your flirtation skills, 'try' to make it worth my while?! I will be late :-(_ _But I could do something later, maybe a takeaway at yours?"_

" _YES!"_ He typed quickly and then spotted Alice returning from the bathroom, flashing him a broad smile, he realised it didn't even matter anymore because, quite simply, whatever he'd felt for her, or believed he'd felt for her, had petered away like fragments of paper burning in a fire. The physical matter floating away as it disintegrated.

He felt not a thing for her. And there was something utterly freeing about that.

"Shall I get the bill?" He said as she took her seat, waving over a waiter before she could even respond.

* * *

It had rained all afternoon and into the evening. Charles had done some packing. Some paperwork. Cleaned his kitchen, and changed the bedding in his room. It was weeks and weeks since Elsie had stayed there and he was praying she'd linger after dinner, maybe sleep over. The truth was now he missed her when they were apart. And she'd seemed distracted since his birthday, elusive. He wanted her wholly. And he wanted her to know that too.

Since lunch he felt lighter, freer, so utterly clear in how he felt it was painful. For things to be so clear so suddenly, like the smack of a wave on a blisteringly hot day or the shower of rain he'd got caught up in as he walked home.

His jacket was still drying in the hall and he'd fussed with that with a sense of nervous energy as he'd waited by his open door for Elsie to make her way up.

The lift was working. She'd come out carrying two takeaway bags, hair damp from the rain, and he'd grinned like an idiot.

"Hi," he said, gripping her arms, kissing her head.

"Hi," she moved her face to quickly kiss his lips, "sorry I'm later than planned."

"A very busy day then?" He'd asked as he took the food from her and carried it into the kitchen.

Elsie took her shoes off, hung her coat, "Yes. Stressful too. I need a drink."

"I've chilled some wine. I wasn't quite sure what you drink with Chinese food."

"Anything right now. I'll dish up shall I?" She rinsed her hands; noting he'd laid out dishes and cutlery on the side she started to open the containers and serve.

"So, I had coffee with Alice today," he said as casually as he could, watching her spoon the rice into bowls.

"Oh," she only paused for a fraction of a second, then peeled the lid from his choice – beef and mushrooms, licking a drop of sauce from her thumb.

"That's it." He moved closer to the table, pulling back a seat and sitting down. "Just 'oh'?"

"What more do you want me to say?" she took the lid from her own dish, "Do you want to try this? It's spicy."

"I'll try a bit." He watched her, how she deliberately avoided his gaze as she served the food. "You want to eat in here or in the lounge?"

"I don't care. You might wanna watch your carpet though."

"Elsie?"

"Hmm?"

He reached to touch her wrist but she snatched her hand back, looking up at him sharply, "What?"

"Nothing." His eyes were wide, concerned, "What's wrong, you're snappy?"

She sank down, tilting her hip to one side. "I'm tired, and hungry and pissed off with building regs and… You had coffee with Alice and told me after the fact."

"So that does bother you?"

"She's your ex-lover, I think 'ex' anyhow –,"

"Hey, what does that mean?"

"Nothing, can we eat now? Did you pour any wine?"

He pushed his chair back, "I'll get it."

"Not too much for me, I've got to drive." She collected her cutlery, picked up her bowl and headed into the lounge.

"You're not staying?" He called after her.

"I erm, need to be up early…" she lied, sitting at the very end of the couch.

Charles put coasters out, placed the wine glasses on them and took his usual chair across from her.

"Ages since I had Chinese food," he said, digging in.

"Why did you see her?" She asked bluntly.

"Because she asked me to."

"And?"

"I'm not hiding anything Elsie, if that's what you think. I'm telling you…"

"After the fact," she interrupted. "As a second thought. As I said."

"Don't be like that," he said, as patiently as he could. He really didn't want to argue with her, the truth was he'd missed her. "You've hardly been communicating with me."

"What?"

"You've been… forget it."

"No go on, clearly it's _my_ fault you met up with your best friend's wife who, as far as I can see, has screwed you over your entire life." She plonked her bowl down on the coffee table and Charles grimaced as it made contact with the wood.

"Don't shout at me, you're acting like I've done something wrong. I only meant… what I mean is since my birthday you've been distant, avoiding me. I didn't know what was wrong with you."

"Because it's _bound_ to be me," she shook her head, exasperated, "fucking men," she seethed beneath her breath.

"Now don't do that, don't lump us all together or make me the villain."

"What did she want?" She snapped.

"To talk. About you as it happens."

"I bet she did, weighing up the competition."

"There is no competition."

"How can you love such a total bitch?" She downed her wine.

"She was happy for me, she said, we spoke of that. Of how mother was getting on, of me going to Spain. We just talked, shared stories. She told me about William."

"Oh my god," she flopped back on the sofa, running her hands through her hair, aggravated. "Are you so blind that you can't see she's doing that to draw you in, like some fish flopping on a line?"

Charles gave up with his dinner, this whole 'conversation' was giving him indigestion. "Whatever happens, or has happened, he's my son and if I can find out a little bit about him – just to feel like I'm still in the loop."

"But you aren't, don't you see that? Are you so stupid that you can't even see that?"

"I don't understand what's going on, why you're being like this."

"There's no need for you to understand," she got to her feet, gathered her bag to her, "I need to go."

"You're being silly. Ridiculous."

"I am ridiculous," she stared at him, felt her chest thump painfully, like her stomach was moving up, her soul floating on top of it, squashing against her throat. "Don't worry about it." She strode into the hall, breathing deeply to keep tears at bay.

"Elsie," he called after her. "Elsie!" He said again, more forcefully, going after her into the hallway. "Don't leave like this. What the hell is going on?"

He felt like some great klutz as he watched her; a giant oaf trying to find some gentle, tender way to calm her. She sometimes described herself as a whirlwind, and god was she right.

"Please, just talk to me. Something has clearly happened that's bothered you, is it just about Alice? About me meeting up with her?"

She shot him a look, "Why the hell would she bother me?"

He shrugged, arms aloft, "I don't know, I'm guessing. You just seem… You know what, scrap that, you've been distant with me for the past two weeks, and I only told you about Alice tonight. So clearly I've screwed up in some other way."

She shrugged on her coat and began unlocking the door.

"Elsie," he huffed exasperated, running a hand through his hair, "please, stay, talk to me. I feel like an absolute shit here and I don't know why. What's changed?"

"Me," she said firmly, biting her lip sharply before turning back to face him. "I've changed."

"And this is it? You want out?"

She cast her eyes away from him – that was the last thing she wanted.

"Look if I said something, or if I've done…or not done… my birthday? Was it that? Did I not thank you enough or, jeez I'm sorry if I made you feel bad. It was the most wonderful, I told you that right? I told how much it meant to me, how good you are for me?" He was getting closer to her, "And that night, making love, we were just…it was all…"

She gasped as she exhaled the breath she'd been holding, hot tears filling her eyes, her fingers scrunched tight into the leather of her bag.

"Elsie," he reached to touch her arm.

"I need to go."

"You're upset; you can't leave like this." He noted the trembling hands, the unsettled demeanour. "I don't want you to drive like this." She jerked back against the door as his other arm came up to hold her. "Okay," he took his hands away, "clearly I've done something. But just, don't leave like this. Have a drink, calm down. For me."

Somehow he managed to lead her back into the lounge, got her seated on the sofa, and when he put a tray on the table in front of her with a bottle of vodka and a bowl of ice she poured herself a large measure and downed it before he even got seated. She was onto her second glass by the time he'd put ice and lemon in his own.

"Don't…" he started, then paused.

"Don't what?"

"Nothing." He took a long drink, sitting forward in his chair. "Do you want to talk to me. Ask me anything?"

"Not particularly." She finished her second drink, contemplated a third, twisting the glass around in her hand. "When did you arrange to meet?"

"Only today," he said calmly. "You have no reason to be jeal –,"

"Don't, don't say something so stereotypical."

She gave in and refilled her glass, knowing as she did so it was the wrong move, her body was already feeling the effect.

For a good fifteen minutes they said very little. Elsie continued to drink, Charles continued to watch, his worry growing by the second. Had he lost her already? And if he had, how? Why? He couldn't pinpoint an event, and he was racking his brains in search of an answer. He didn't want this to be over, he felt almost petulant about it; he didn't want what they had to be suddenly taken away.

"Don't you ever worry I'm the wrong woman? That you should be dating somebody more suited to you?"

He frowned, "I don't understand what you mean. Where's that come from?"

She shrugged, feeling spite form in the pit of her stomach, fuelled by her own upset. "I just wondered."

"You're talking in riddles," he put his glass down. "Where has this come from, everything was fine."

"Was it?"

"Is this one of those male/female misunderstandings?"

"Perhaps it's more a Carson/Hughes misunderstanding." She downed her drink, pushed herself to her feet. "I need to put my shoes on."

"Elsie, sit down."

"Don't tell me what to do. I don't need anyone telling me not to do," she slurred, stopping and rubbing her head, "what to do. Specially not a man."

"Well that's just great, isn't it? Real mature." He followed her out into the hallway; she was slipping her shoes on, one hand pressed against his white wall (which bothered him no end) as she balanced herself. "You can't drive," he said. "Let me call a taxi," he reached past her to the phone on the table by the door and she caught hold of his arm, holding on tightly.

"Charles," she drawled, lolling back against the wall, pulling at his shirt. "Take my clothes off."

He leaned forward, his head spinning, senses confused as she pressed her body to his. He was more than eager to touch her, kiss her. Her lips were soft, her mouth tasted of alcohol as they kissed. He kissed along her jawline, felt her hands clawing at him.

"Take me to bed, just take me, fuck me…"

"Oh no," he pulled back, looking at her – she never spoke like that to him, never. Her eyes were closed.

"Make me forget," she pleaded.

"I don't think that's what you really want," he said as she pressed her body up to his. "Not that I'm rejecting you, God knows…" he stroked his hands down her back, smiling when she wobbled against him. "But you've had one volume too many."

"I just want to be wanted," she mumbled, pressing her face against his chest. "For you to want me."

"Darling, there's nothing more…" when she toppled on her shoes it cut off whatever he'd been about to say. "Woah, okay, let's get you to bed then. Here we go," he hoisted her into his arms. "There we go. Quite a while since we had sleepover at mine."

"Mm, my bed's better," she said sleepily into his shirt.

"That's true, actually," he pushed open his bedroom door with his knee, laid her on the bed. "This will have to do."

She nodded, eyes closed, mind already drifting away.

Her behaviour not only confused him, it bothered him. He still didn't understand exactly what had happened, what was going on between them. But as he fiddled with the fastening on her skirt and eased it down her legs, he realised tonight wasn't going to be the time to get to the bottom of it. She was already half asleep.

Shoes off. Jumper off. Bra off. And then he lifted her legs beneath the quilt, tucked it comfortably around her.

"Stay with me," she brushed a hand absently down his arm.

"I will, I'll just go tidy up, won't be long." He kissed her forehead.

By the time he'd come to join her in bed she was in a deep sleep.

* * *

Elsie woke in the middle of the night, her throat dry, head aching and her body slick with sweat.

She licked her lips with a swollen tongue and tilted her head, noting Charles asleep on the pillow beside her.

She was in his bed. That was rather nice, actually, she hadn't been in his bed for a while. She watched him, kept perfectly still beside him, her arms on top of the bedsheets, waiting for her heartbeat to slow and calm.

Sighing, she rolled out of bed and stumbled down the hall to the bathroom, rinsing her face and nipping to the loo. Before returning to bed she got herself a glass of water and sat up in bed sipping it in the darkness of the room.

"Will you talk to me now?" Charles asked softly, his hand coming to rest on her leg.

"Sorry I woke you."

"Don't be," he stretched on his back, "easier to talk in the dark."

"Sorry I behaved so irrationally too, I didn't mean to come across… Well, like some crazy bitch."

He smirked, "I didn't think that. I don't think that." He plumped his pillows behind him so he could half sit, it made it easier to talk. "Did me having coffee with Alice bother you so much?"

"Perhaps," she groaned, "Oh I don't know Charles. Maybe more than it should, not enough for me to behave badly. Who knows."

"You confuse me," he twisted his head to look at her. "Do you know that?"

"I confuse myself." She put her glass down, "You're annoyed with me?"

"Not over tonight."

"Oh, but you are annoyed with me?"

"It was just…" he didn't really want to do this. The event itself was long over and they'd said all they needed to but for some reason it still niggled him.

"You can be honest with me; I promise I won't flip out. If I've pissed you off –,"

"And clearly I've done the same to you…"

"No," she said quickly, "you haven't. It's more to do with me than you."

"Okay."

"So, tell me."

"It was the pregnancy thing. Well, it wasn't even a pregnancy, the scare, the discussion over it – I'm not sure how to label it."

Her eyes were wide; she hadn't expected that topic at 3:30 in the morning.

"It kinda hurt me," he said, as softly as he could. "How quickly you dismissed it. Would it have been so awful? I mean, forget about the logistics of it and the sensible side. We both know it's not going to happen. But for one moment, the other week, did you not for a second, _just_ a second, consider what it might be like? To have a child with me –," he shrugged, shifting his tongue around nervously inside his dry mouth, "– would it have been so awful?"

"Course not," she said without need for consideration. "If we were in our thirties and things…" she smiled, "Having a child with you wouldn't be a problem if that were the case Charles. I suppose I avoided delving too deeply into it because it meant I would have to face up to my own feelings over it. Maybe it's different for women, maybe, I don't know. But once that moment has passed, when you can have children, once it's gone there's an odd feeling. Like you missed your chance. Like you failed in what your sex is meant to do."

"I think that's still to do with social expectation rather than failure. You're anything but a failure."

She fell silent, leaning in closer to his warmth.

"It's raining again," Charles commented, "heavily."

"June's been a bit of a washout really, after your birthday all it's done is rain."

"True, perhaps July will be better."

"You won't be here."

"Does that upset you?"

She turned onto her side, "Not upset. I'll miss you though, I can easily admit to that."

"And don't you think I'll miss you?"

She shrugged, "Maybe you'll miss some things."

"Do you really think all men want is sex? That it's all I want from you, even after all these months?"

She didn't respond to that – logically no, she knew that wasn't the case. But sometimes, in the darkest places of her mind, there was this little worm of doubt that would poison all thoughts.

"Not all men are like the ones you… That farmer, how he treated you, we aren't all like that." He turned too, reflecting her posture with his own, "That's not me. It's not who I am."

"I know." She held his gaze, slid her teeth back and forth across her bottom lip as she thought, "logically I know that."

"Than what? You backed off from me, Elsie. And all at once, just suddenly, you're retreating and I kept thinking you just felt ill or tired or busy. But it wasn't anything else. It was me. Felt like my worst fears were coming to fruition – the thought that you'd get bored and politely bow out."

"I'm not bored. Far from it."

"Then what? Help me out here, would you? I know I'm not stupid but I'm also not the best at this kind of thing, at reading people, and you're just…"

"I'm what?"

"Baffling at times to me. I don't understand what's changed."

"I changed. My feelings for you…changed." She took a deep breath, "It scared me."

"How so?"

She closed her eyes, felt her blood pumping, her brain working, searching for some excuse or reasonable explanation. "I felt, vulnerable, I guess."

"Did I make you feel that way? Did I say something or –,"

"No," she shook her head, slid one hand beneath her cheek.

"–because I know you told me things, private things, told in confidence. And I would never threaten that, I would never share any of that."

"I know. That's part of the problem."

"What problem? What's gone wrong?"

"I'm in love with you," she said hopelessly. "I don't even know when it started. But it was unexpected. For me to feel like this," she stared, eyes glassy with moisture. "I never feel like this. I make a point of avoiding this. Of not needing someone. And then this man, you, unlike anyone I've ever even considered dating before – and I find my usual way of playing things doesn't work. That this game that I've excelled at for so long is no longer the one I want to be part of."

Charles felt like the world had sunk in on him. His brain battled to form a response, whilst his heart battered against his old ribs like a bird seeking freedom.

"Is it… would it be so bad? To love me?"

"No," she almost smiled, "it's not bad at all. I'm just unprepared for it. So I figured I'd back off before you do, before you go to Spain and lose interest or," she shook her head, "until somebody else becomes more interesting. Before I behaved foolishly and told you I loved you only to be rejected."

"Whatever made you think I wouldn't return it?"

"Her, of course," she shivered, despite the humidity in the room. "You said you still loved her, and she seems to still loom so large in your mind. Bloody hell Charles, you told me all about her on our first night in bed together, she's clearly this huge…" she faded off, her hands flailing in the air. "And me, it's my fault."

"What is?"

"All these crazy thoughts in my mind –," she touched her head.

"Elsie, why? You need to," he caught hold of her hand, "you need to tell me these things. For goodness sake Elsie, you make me open up to you like nobody before. I've admitted things to you, been with you in a way that I never… Men don't talk about these things!"

She smiled, wiping at her face with the back of her hand – when did she start to cry? Why the hell was she crying? "I just figure you don't feel the same. That this is mostly about attraction, sex. That perhaps I'm a nice substitute."

"None of this makes sense to me."

"That you think of her when we're in bed."

"Oh for fuck's sake," he shook his head, sagged back against his pillow.

It shocked her to hear him curse, he hardly ever did.

"Never. Not once. Not for a second."

"You don't even have to say that, because of course I know that's the truth because you're a good man and even if you don't love me I think you care enough…"

He caught hold of her hands again, pulling her to him, "Who said I didn't love you?"

She was quiet then, wide-eyed, breathless.

"Who said I didn't love you, Elsie?" He asked again, tone insistent.

She opened her mouth to speak but found her throat tight, brain not forming words.

"Did it never once occur to you that I feel exactly the same? That this six-month whirlwind has brought me to life? That I wake every morning and think of you? Last thing at night. Throughout the day. Did it never occur to you that I held back because I didn't want to scare you off?"

She shook her head, bit down on her lip, "No."

"No?"

"Because I'm a total arse, clearly."

"Oh god," he pulled her to him, holding her tight – torn between laughing and kissing her, "Of course I love you, and I'd never refer to you as an arse."

She laughed, shifting her face so she could see him, her face wet with tears, flushed with embarrassment and relief.

He kissed her tenderly, one arm around her back holding her secure, the other wiping her cheek free of tears again, "I do love you, Elsie. Very much."

Her smile was serene, she stroked his face, kissed him gently, savouring the moment, "I love you," she pressed her forehead to his, "I love you. I don't want to lose you."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"You're going to Spain."

"That's just Geography," he smiled, brushing her hair back, "I'm right here, all here."

"And Alice?"

"Nothing. Nothing to me now."

* * *

' _ **Show me your scars**_

 _ **And I won't walk away'**_

* * *

 _I've got to admit, I made myself emotional re-reading that, and I knew the outcome!_

 _Please let me know what you think, I love hearing from you and I will try my best to respond. 'Thank you' to all the guest reviewers too, I appreciate your comments. xx R_


	19. Chapter 19

_Sorry for the delay – had my own medical issues to deal with that set me back a bit._

 _Thank you for your reviews for the previous chapter, I appreciate every one because I really loved writing that bit and it felt like I'd been building to it for a while. So, now we move on; time to test this new love._

* * *

 **Chapter 19**

 **Sunday 26** **th** **June**

"Oh come on, for goodness sake," Elsie grumbled, glancing to the clock and drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. "Come on, come on. Bloody hell…"

She pressed her foot on the accelerator, moved forward in the queue of traffic no more than a metre before stopping again. In the past twenty minutes she hadn't made it past second gear.

"It's on green you flipping idiot!" She yelled, gesturing at the lights. "Right…" she saw a gap in the next lane, pressed hard on the accelerator and moved across.

When she finally made it to the coffee shop, the gentle patter of rain that had occupied most of the morning had swung over to a full on deluge. She opened the car door, felt the giant plop of it hit her on the nose as she pushed her umbrella out first and tried to open it up.

Dashing across the car park she pushed open the door, the glass clouded with condensation, and scanned the busy room.

Charles was over in the corner, his chair twisted towards the window. His long legs crossed, one-foot dangling in the air. He was reading The Sunday Times, rustling his paper as he turned a page and folded it. She felt the anxiety that had been present in her chest suddenly dissipate, replaced with something warmer, comforting.

He paused, looked up quickly, and then, spotting her, he smiled, peering at her through his glasses – she would have to try and convince him to go for a more modern pair.

She returned the smile, making her way over to him. Charles folded his paper, slid his glasses off, and put both on the table.

"Hi handsome," she drawled, putting her bag down.

"I'm assuming you're talking to me and not one of the other fellas in here."

"Definitely you," she kissed his cheek.

He smiled triumphantly, "Hello in return…gorgeous."

"A very damp gorgeous," she stowed her umbrella in the windowsill and shrugged her coat off. "I thought your mum was joining us."

"In the bathroom, wanted to go alone. Another five minutes then we'll worry."

Elsie grinned, shaking her head, "You're mean."

"Or honest," he caught hold of her hand as she went to sit down. "Proper kiss?"

His eyes held a childish mischief and she leant in again, her lips brushing his as she spoke, "You're in a naughty mood today, Mr Carson," she moved a centimetre and kissed him fully. "I rather like it."

She took her seat, "So, what are eating?" She opened the menu.

"I'm going to have the beef, stilton and onion-marmalade sandwich," he said, and she could almost hear the joy resonating through his tone.

"I like how prepared you are," she trailed her finger down the menu until she got to the salads section. "I will continue to try and be good following my recent spate of overindulgence."

His eyebrows rose, "Hmm, hungover Elsie is now in my memory banks."

"Don't dwell on it, please."

He reached for her free hand, playing around with folding their fingers together. "You were a little drunk when you used the 'L' word."

She glanced over her glasses at him, "Are you going to bring that up every time I see you?"

He chuckled, "Only for the next month or so."

"Oh good." She closed her menu, "I'm going to have the salmon salad. Should I go find your mother?"

Charles' eyes widened as he remembered Margaret's absence, "I suppose one of us better."

Elsie pushed her chair back, "I'll go."

"I'll go order, I know what mum wants. Do you want tea?"

She nodded, "Won't be a sec."

* * *

"There are 46 million people in Spain," Margaret said, leaning back in her chair.

"How do you know that?" Charles asked, cutting his sandwich into four neat squares.

"Was on his show last night, lottery."

"Dale Winton?"

"Yes, him. Lottery. That was the question, how many people in Spain – 22 million, 34 or 46. I never knew there were that many people in Spain. Made me think of Charlie going over there."

"Forty-six million and one," Elsie said, pouring all of them tea.

"Yes that's it," Margaret said, "forty-six. Winton, that's his name."

"Are you going to eat your sandwich, mum?" Charles moved her plate towards her; she seemed distracted this morning – Elsie had gone to the counter for the key to the toilets in the end, Margaret having forgotten how to work the disabled lock and getting stuck in there.

Elsie put her fork down, noting the concern in Charles' voice, "Let me help." She turned the plate and cut Margaret's sandwich into smaller pieces. "There you go, let's get you a napkin so your pretty skirt doesn't get marked."

"My pretty skirt, my father got me this for my 13th birthday."

Elsie smiled, doing her best not to laugh, "It's a lovely choice."

Margaret, picked up a square of sandwich, "And I wore it on a date," she chuckled, "we were sneaking down the jennel to…" she nudged Elsie's arm, "you know."

"Mother," Charles' stirred a lump of sugar into his tea, scandalised.

"We use to kiss all the time, it's nice when you find someone you can't stop kissing. Isn't it Elly? You know what I mean?"

She smiled over at Charles, "Oh, I think I have a fair idea."

"He's so grey at times," Margaret commented, waving her sandwich in Charles' direction. "Everyone needs to, you know, every now and then."

Elsie giggled, pressing her napkin to her mouth to stifle it.

"You're not a boy anymore but even at your age you still need to get –,"

"Mother!"

"They're all it, even at my place."

"Don't start that again, please." He pushed his plate away, his appetite gone.

"Keeps ya healthy, don't you agree Elly?"

"Oh, absolutely," Elsie grinned, nodding furiously.

"Don't encourage this."

"It's sex Charlie, not that scandalous, you wait till you go without it," Margaret finally started eating her sandwich.

"Oh he's got five weeks…" Elsie closed her mouth when she saw Charles' face, but Margaret seemed to have moved on anyway and was flicking through a magazine as she ate. "Sorry," Elsie mouthed across the table to him.

He twisted his mouth, trying not to smile, feeling her foot touch his beneath the table.

"So, do you want to go for a drive after lunch mum, somewhere nice? Not the rain is easing. Where did the magazine come from?"

Margaret glanced up, "It's mine, shut up I'm reading."

"Don't be snappy mum."

Charles poured the last of the tea.

"We could go into town," Elsie suggested gently, adding milk to their cups. "Go around the market."

She glanced up as a young woman appeared at the side of their table, looking awkwardly at them.

"Can we help you?" Charles asked.

Elsie pushed Margaret's teacup towards her, reaching for a napkin as the contents of some of her sandwich dropped down onto the magazine.

"Oh dear, let me get this," she cleaned up the mess, wiped the sauce from Margaret's chin.

"The thing is," the woman said, "that's my magazine, I left it on the table while I went to the bathroom."

"It's my magazine," Margaret said to Elsie.

"Mum, did you…?" Charles was already pulling the magazine out from beneath her hands.

"It's mine, it's my magazine."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause any upset," the woman said.

"I can't believe you just took it," Charles said, wiping the sauce stain from the page.

Elsie watched him carefully, biting down on her bottom lip as he fussed.

"Here," she said, getting to her feet and finding her handbag, "I'm really sorry, she didn't realise, we didn't. Can I pay you for it?" She dug a five pound note from her purse, "Would that be too rude of me?" She tilted her head, aimed for her most apologetic look whilst somehow maintaining a gentle sense of authority.

"That'd be fine, thanks," the woman said smiling. "I'm really sorry to bother you."

"It's no bother," Elsie said.

"We're sorry," Charles said forcefully.

Elsie sat back down, lifting her teacup to her mouth.

"That was embarrassing mother, I can't believe –,"

"Charles," Elsie said, her tone hushing him.

He stared at her, wide-eyed, eyebrows rising halfway up his forehead.

"Thank you," Margaret said, grabbing the magazine back, "finish my lunch now. Not half bad this sandwich."

* * *

Elsie waited by the door to Margaret's room, her arms crossed as she watched Charles settle her into her chair by the window.

"My show is on," she said, her voice high. "Cookson, Catherine Cookson."

"I know, give me a second and I'll find the remote."

"I want my foot stool too and my blanket."

"Mother, give me a second."

Spotting the blanket on the bed, Elsie retrieved it and moved to drape it over Margaret's legs.

"There we go, is that better?"

"Ah, that's the one, thank you," Margaret said, patting Elsie's shoulder. "Thank you."

"Glad we're all sorted," Charles handed her the remote. "Channel found, cup of tea by your side, foot stool in place."

"Don't be bossy, Charles," Margaret said, still holding Elsie's arm.

"We best get going mum, let you watch this," He was exhausted by her today.

"Yes. Go on then."

Elsie smiled up at him, her eyes soft. She got to her feet, "Well, I'll see you soon, Margaret."

"Thank you dear," she turned up the volume on her television. "Nice having you here, Elsie."

Elsie smirked as she glanced at Charles – a first! Her actual name.

"See you soon," he bent to kiss Margaret's forehead. "You take care and behave."

"Behave yourself," she waved the remote, "off with you now."

"Yeah," he followed Elsie to the door, finding her hand sliding into his as he took a glance back at his mother.

* * *

"So, I'm sorry if I was out of line before," Elsie said as Charles pulled into the car park.

"When?"

"With your mother, at the café, the magazine."

"Oh that. Well, I don't exactly always handle these things well." He pulled on the handbrake, took off his seatbelt. "I just get embarrassed. I'm no good at social things as it is."

"I don't know; anyone can feel shaken in situations like that. It's a bit like having to watch a child I suppose."

"Sadly, yes. The realisation of that can be bitter."

He took her hand again once he'd locked the car and they were making their way out to the main road. "Can I ask you a favour?"

"Of course, do you want me to water your plants?"

"Oh God, I'd not even thought of that, yes, please."

She chuckled, pausing at the kerb edge, "So there's another favour?"

"Yes –,"

"Wait, do you want to go to around the market before the pub?"

"Yes, let's."

"Right. So, this way," she turned to her left, pulling him with her. "Favour?"

"I was wondering if you'd mind checking in with my mother."

She was a little taken aback by that, it somehow suggested intimacy, family connections. "As in go visit her?" she said, keeping her voice level, focussing on her feet as she navigated the cobbles in heels.

"You could just ring; I know it's asking a lot but she seems to like you. She's calm with you, I appreciate that." His voice rumbled through his chest, and she could just about detect a trace of nerves, "I know it's asking a lot."

"You already said that," she squeezed his hand in hers. "And it won't be an issue, really."

"Thank you darling."

She smiled, "Hmm, that sounds nice," she leant against his arm. "Look out for strawberries on the market, English ones."

"Eyes. Peeled."

"And I want something for my elbows."

"Your what?"

"My elbows. They're dry, I want to try and get some cream, locally made stuff."

"I'll stick to the strawberry search."

"We can have them after dinner."

"You're too good to me."

He kept her close as they wandered around the market, carried her buys in a plastic bag, stood by as she tested pots of cream and negotiated prices. Businesswoman that she was, nothing was ever straightforward.

"Are you set up book wise?" She asked as they passed a second-hand stall.

"Book wise?"

"Reading – whilst you're away."

"I'll be working."

She ran her hand over his belly, fingers dancing over his shirt buttons, "Oh but won't you want something to curl up with at night in your lonely little bed?"

"I can think of something more interesting than a book. And my bed will be far from little."

She giggled, tugging on his hand, "Come on, I'll pick one for you."

"Don't get me trash."

"As if," she ran her hand over the table, "Here look – an education," she held up 'Fifty Shades of Grey'.

"What's that?"

She laughed, her chest shaking, "Nothing. Never mind."

"Mm," he grumbled, casting his eye over the books. "I'll get something for you… here." He held a book towards her.

"Austen? No thank you."

"I thought all women liked the romance."

"Then I must not be like _all women_ , tea parties and gossip. I like something meatier."

"Alright," he put the book back down, "you know I'm a classics man."

"I do."

"Here then," he held up another book, the spine creased where it had been read several times. "Great Expectations."

She wrinkled her nose, "It's like a brick."

"It's a good read. A classic read."

He spoke with such authority that she had no choice but to take it from him.

"75 pence this one," she said, looking at the sticker on the cover.

"I can stretch to it."

"Hmm, oh here, one for you," she reached around him, "Learn Spanish."

He took it from her, "I already know it."

"Smart arse. Okay, well then," she turned over a few books on the pile. "How about The Monk?" she said dramatically. "Classic Gothic literature, and with political undertones, you'll like that. And all for only 50 pence."

He took it from her, scanned the blurb on the back. "I could give it a go I guess."

"Could you though, just for me?" She moved closer to him, her voice light, playful. He felt her chest brushing his, her eyes challenging him.

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a handful of loose change, "For you. I can afford £1.25."

She kissed his cheek, "And I'll get in the first round."

* * *

 **Tuesday 28** **th** **June**

Charles had been all packed up for days, in fact he was probably over prepared. His flight wasn't until lunch on the Wednesday and he'd meet the rest of the staff there; he was flying over two days early to make sure all was in its place before they arrived. And so he'd spend his last day with Elsie; she'd taken the day off, in fact she'd taken a day and a half as she insisted on driving him to the airport. He had grand dreams of swinging her round in the airport, kissing her in some Casablanca style and her crying into a white handkerchief as she waved him off.

As he watched her now, sitting in the passenger seat of his Range Rover with her legs dangling out of the door as she tried to yank on her wellington boots, the very thought of her ever playing the damsel in distress was ludicrous.

"You're sure you don't want me to help?"

"I can do it," she said through gritted teeth.

"Surely you lived in wellies as a kid?"

"My legs were considerably skinnier. Like two pieces of string dangling down from my skirt. Ha!" She kicked a leg in the air as she succeeded in getting the left wellington on. "In fact I was straight up and down as a girl."

He found that hard to believe as his eyes fixated on her cleavage as she leant forward.

"You brought a coat?" He asked, mouth dry.

"A-ha, can't trust the weather at the moment."

He glanced up to the purple-grey sky, laden down with thick clouds. "Mm, we might manage it, only a couple of miles to the pub, then we can have lunch."

"You said," she let out a deep sigh as she triumphed with the second boot, "three miles."

"Three miles, that's a couple."

"No," she jumped down from her seat, feet sinking into the clogging mud. "It's three. And not too much at the pub, I want to cook for you tonight."

"You're cooking?"

"Thought I might. I have this chicken dish that I made up ages ago, I think it's pretty good, you can be the judge. And we'll have roast potatoes, I even got Jerseys in – I know they're your favourite. And if I burn them you will eat every charcoal coloured piece."

His boyish grin was irresistible as she pressed her hands against his chest, fingers curling into the thick material of his wax jacket as she stood on tiptoes to kiss him.

"I remember this coat," she said, breathing in the musky scent of it. "One of our first dates."

"A nice date too," he agreed, leaning down to kiss her head. "It snowed."

"It did," he remembered it fondly. "Only you would choose a walk for our day together," she said, as she collected her bag from the car.

"A good walk though, and its National Trust, we can visit the property later, especially if it rains."

"You're so organised," she hooked her arm around his, "don't let me slip in the mud."

"I'll try not to."

They set off across the car park, crossing the first stile – Charles' hands on her hips as she climbed – and over into the field.

"We cross this then there should be a path," he said, folding the map up and stowing it in his deep pockets.

"Alright boss, let's go."

"My sister used to love running in the mud," Elsie suddenly said, and Charles felt his pulse quicken.

"Oh?" He followed behind her, a plodding gait as he tried to keep his tone level yet interested.

"She used to race around the farm, it irritated the hell out of me because I had to work. She got to play. I never understood why of course, at first." She paused as they reached the next stile, turned her head slightly to look at him as he caught up. "Oh, sweetheart," she said, reaching to touch his cheek. "You've cut your face."

Instinctively, he reached to touch it, "Must've been a bramble."

"Here," she dug around in her jacket pocket for a tissue and pressed it against the cut, wiping clear most of the blood. "Where's that water you had?"

Charles took the bottle from his bag, pouring a little onto the tissue and waiting as Elsie wiped his face clean.

"You must be more careful, don't want to damage your looks."

He chuckled, "Yeah, right."

Charles held his arm out and Elsie leant on it as she climbed up and over the stile, waiting for him on the other side.

"Sky's darkened, don't you think?" She noted, as he swung his long legs over.

"Yeah, best quicken our pace." He glanced at the map, pointed out the direction and they set off again. "I was enjoying your story," he said, as lightly as he could.

"Well, Becky – my sister," she added softly.

"She's younger than you?"

"Nine years."

"Wow."

"Yeah, bit of an unexpected pregnancy I guess, my mum was too old maybe…" she shrugged. "Who knows why these things happen." She stepped ahead of him on the thin path, her hands floating above the tall grass, palms skimming the feathery tops. "You see Becky is… she was born…"

"I think I understand."

"She's just Becky, you know, it was never… I never questioned it, it's just who she is. But of course when I did what I did."

He heard the strain in her voice.

"She was just a child, she didn't understand. All she knew is Elsie left, deserted her, and no more playmate."

He reached forward for her hand, "What's she like?"

"Fun. She likes to sing and have fun."

"Like you then."

She turned then, facing him, an odd look on her face. "She's much nicer than I am."

"Oh I find that hard to believe," He rested his hand on her shoulder, leaning in to kiss her.

Elsie gasped as the sky rumbled above them and she tilted her head back, looking up the darkened sky. "Now this is the English summer we know."

"Roll on Spain."

"Don't brag," she tugged on his hand as the first heavy droplets slid down her forehead.

Charles followed behind her, rushing under the shelter of trees.

"You do know," he called over the sound of the rainfall, "that it's unsafe to hide beneath trees when there's a storm?"

"If lightning hits we'll either die or have a great story to tell."

"Nice options," he chuckled, his voice softening as he got closer to her.

When she turned her hair was wet, her face flushed from running, and she moved into his space, her body against his. Her graceful hands came up to hold his face and she pressed her mouth so forcefully against his that he felt the air leave him, his soul swoop and body sway.

The air was rich and fertile with summer green and fresh rain. Electricity as they kissed.

"If I were thirty years younger," she whispered, "I would make love to you right here, now, under this tree."

He felt his body tense, "If I were a different man I might let you."

She laughed, clear as a bell cutting through the rain.

"You think we'll be here long?"

"Quick shower, I'm guessing." He curled his hands together at the base of her spine, holding her closer to him. "Stop talking," he insisted, pressing his mouth back to hers.

* * *

They had cake and tea at the pub, then walked back, only the last half-mile was hampered by rain.

Elsie sat in the car with bare feet and her legs curled up beneath her on the seat as she waited for Charles to pack the boot.

"You alright there, milady?" He said as he closed the door.

"Chattering teeth. Did you put my wellies in?"

"Your mud-caked wellingtons? Yes. Managed to find out a plastic bag to wrap them in, soaked through to the skin now but as long as you're warm and dry." He started the engine.

"I can't help the fact that so far our summer has been a bit shit."

"Perhaps not," he grumbled, wiping his damp hands on a tissue.

She bit down on her lip as she watched him, reaching to touch the back of his hand, "Oh sweetheart, don't be sulky."

He pouted at her, brow furrowed and she giggled, "I'm beginning to know that look so well."

She leant across the gear stick and kissed his cheek, "I'll make it up to you. You can have a nice laze in the bath whilst I cook."

"Mm, I guess so."

She smiled sweetly as she ran her hand down his leg, "We need to call at my place first, pick up the ingredients, my overnight bag…"

"We're not staying at yours?"

"I thought we were staying at yours?" She grinned. "Won't it be easier with your cases and stuff?"

"They're ready to go, we'll just pick them up."

"You don't want to be at home for your last night?"

He pulled his seatbelt on, waited for her to do the same before he reversed out of the space.

"Your bed is better," he said quickly, "and besides, you'll need all your cooking stuff to make my dinner."

"Oh right," she ignored the tone, almost as if she were his wife, almost as if her home was his.

* * *

"Don't be silly," she teased, pushing her fingers through his thick hair as his mouth slipped down to her neck.

"Silly?" He mumbled against her skin, "I am never silly."

She giggled, half at his pompous tone, half at the tickle of his stubble on her soft skin.

"You, on the other hand, can quite often be silly," he assured her, mouth moving to her left nipple. His lips hovered over it, tantalising, breathing out a thin stream of air between his teeth to arouse it. He watched the pink bud pucker and stiffen, how her entire body shifted at the sensation. His tongue flicked out, touching the tip with the gentlest, most intimate caress he could imagine.

Her fingers shifted in his hair and he pressed down harder, careful to keep his hands from touching her body, for the pleasure to be centred in one spot. He circled the nipple with his tongue before shifting outwards, over her freckles, smiling as the scent of her filled him.

Elsie lifted her leg, dug her heel into the back of his shin.

"Ow," he pulled his mouth away from her. "You did that on purpose."

Her eyebrows rose, "Prove it." She pushed her chest forward, just slightly, just enough to tempt him, and his mouth returned to the delicious perfection of her breast, suckling now, until he moaned against her skin.

She pressed her heel in harder.

"Ow!" He said sharply. "Stop it, come here."

"Come here? I'm lying beneath you, where do you think I'm going to go?"

He smiled up at her, his chin balanced on her chest, arms moving now as his hands fell to her hips.

"Just checking," he kissed down between her breasts, his large hand moving to her right breast, cupping the smooth orb in his palm.

"I'm not the one going anywhere," she said pointedly, tilting her hips up, her neck back, eyes closing.

"Here we go," he blew air against her belly button, "is this a guilt thing?"

"Or a truth thing."

"Mmm," he kissed her belly until it quivered and he looked up at her again, watching her face, the smile ghosting across her features.

He let his hand slide lower, down over the slight rise of her belly, to the sparse hair between her legs (he suspected she visited some beauty place but he had no idea as to what they did there and just the thought of enquiring made his face flush red). Her thighs were warm, she pressed them together against his hand which made him smile again. The heat of her – soft, inviting. And moisture against the tips of his fingers. Her knees rising, pelvis pushing up and her mouth open as she whispered his name.

"Yes?" He murmured, watching her face. "Elsie…"

She parted her legs at the ankles, shifted one leg up and around until he was between them and then she sat forward, pulling at his body.

"It's about time you kissed me, don't you think?"

He gave a slight nod of his head, lifting his mouth up to hers.

"Nothing better than kissing you," he said as they paused.

" _Nothing_ better?" She teased, one hand travelling down between their bodies to stroke him.

"Wicked woman," his voice just cracked momentarily, "God I love you."

She smiled, triumphant, moving her hand, lifting her legs around him until he got the idea and lifted her into his lap, sitting together in the middle of his bed.

"I like you saying that," she said, nudging his nose with her own.

"I rather like saying it too," he returned the gesture, arms strong around her, holding her close to him. "Come with me," he kissed her forehead, "let me pack you in my luggage and take you with me."

"I wouldn't fit."

"I have a large suitcase."

"For all of your _large_ clothes?" She laughed and he almost pouted as he looked at her, his eyes pale grey in this light, in this moment. She brushed back his hair, kissed him slowly, enjoying the sensation of being pressed together, the faint scent of rain still evident between them. "I love you too," she finally said, kissing him deeply, holding his face in her hands.

He lay her back, moved gently on top of her, "Say it repeatedly."

She giggled as he covered her face in kisses, over her chest.

"You make me feel like a boy again."

She closed her eyes, held her breath – she couldn't even begin to explain what he made her feel.

"Wonderful, beautiful woman." He returned to her face, kissing the tip of her nose, "Just when I thought life had settled into a rather predictable rhythm. Nice. But predictable."

"I'm anything but…" she pressed her hands into his shoulders.

"Don't I know it."

She pushed her hips up again and he groaned.

"Stop talking," she said, copying his line from earlier in the day, fingers sliding into his hair as she pushed gently on his head and leant up to meet his mouth with hers.

* * *

 **Wednesday 29** **th** **June**

When it turned 7:30 Charles reluctantly rolled out of bed, extracting himself from beneath Elsie's head and their warm bedsheets.

He showered, shaved, and went into the kitchen to make a pot of tea.

Elsie was still asleep when he returned to the bedroom to dress. She often slept like this – flat on her back, her arms above her head on the pillow, head tilted to one side. Glorious to see.

He leant over her, stroked down the inside of her arm, kissed her forehead.

"Darling," he whispered, "time to get up."

She groaned, a hand covering her eyes, "Don't make me."

"I can get a taxi, if you want to stay in bed."

"No," she mumbled, like a toddler unwilling to make the obvious choice. "Don't let it be morning. That means you're going."

He climbed onto the bed beside her, his arm over her waist as she turned to face him, burying her face against his chest.

"Not for long."

"What if you meet some nice young Spanish girl? What if she tells you, you can spend your days walking the beach, dipping your toes in the sea, bathing in the sun, living off seafood and Sangria and keeping you knee deep in orgasms?"

He laughed, squeezing her waist, kissing her head, "Not going to happen."

"Hmm," she mumbled again, hands wide on his chest.

"Wait – how young is young? Are we talking 42 or 22?"

She slapped his chest playfully, "Hey!"

Laughing she looked up at him.

"Pretty happy with what I've got," he said. "And besides, I'm still hoping you'll come visit."

"I will try. If things look okay with the houses and…" she was awake now, eyes bright, mind clearing. "My head's heavy."

"Mine too. Somebody wouldn't let me sleep."

"Just leaving you with a good memory."

"Best send-off I've ever had."

"I need to go shower," she said, "what time do you want to leave?"

"Soon as, we can have breakfast at the airport if you like, if we get going we'll have time."

"Good idea."

* * *

Charles pushed the last of his scrambled eggs around his plate, giving up on them he dropped his fork and looked up to where Elsie sat, cupping her tea cup and watching him steadily. Her bagel was gone, her plate already cleared away by the bustling staff.

"You want some more tea?"

"I'll be up peeing every five minutes on that plane."

She smiled in agreement but refilled his cup anyway.

"It's rather ridiculous how much I don't want to go now," he said gently, feeling awkward and large and his voice too loud to say such things to her in this environment.

She smiled kindly, touching his hand with hers. "It's not that long, really."

"Maybe not, but two weeks ago you said you loved me and now everything's changed."

"Quite," she drummed her fingertips in his palm, "I've cut back on my drinking for one."

"Elsie…" his voice was tinged with something, she'd heard it before, back in January, a sense of desperation, need.

"Don't," she said quickly, "I'll still be here, we'll be fine…" she looked him in the eye, "unless the 22-year-old Spanish girl wins."

He grinned, as if it would really ever be an entertained possibility. "I need to go, get through security."

"I know," She let go of his hand, reached for her handbag. "I'll walk you to the gate."

They didn't hold hands as they walked. They didn't speak neither. Arms brushing, steps in time.

"Here," he said, as they go to the bottom of the escalator and he put his travel bag down. "This is me."

"Well," she said, turning to face him, pushing her handbag up her shoulder. "You haven't got any liquids in your hand luggage have you?" She teased.

"No," Charles smiled, "I have travelled before you know." He glanced to the floor and shook his head. "So, I'll call you when I get to the hotel."

She nodded, "Yes, I'd appreciate that." She stepped forward, touched his arm, kissed his cheek. "Have a safe flight."

"Have a safe drive home."

"I will, gotta get out of this maze of a car park first."

They both smiled, nervous laughs, his hands shaking.

"Elsie," he whispered, stepping in closer to her.

"Yes?"

She stared up at him, bright blue eyes drawing him in and he leant forward and kissed her forehead.

She smiled gently at him at the tender gesture. So Charles, to hold back in public.

"Oh bugger it," he suddenly said, pulling her against him and kissing her forcefully, longingly. A promise. "See you soon," he whispered by her ear.

"Yes," she breathed deeply, her chest feeling warm and flushed. "Soon."

She watched him go up the escalator until he was out of sight and then made her way slowly through the airport back to her car, doing her best to ignore the rather uncomfortable lump in her throat.

* * *

 **Friday 15** **th** **July**

Elsie scanned the menu for a fifth time, turning over the pages and pursing her lips as she did so, completely unaware of the rest of the guests at the table watching her very carefully.

"Come on Hughes," Tom said, "Don't mean to be rude but we're all bloody starving here."

She glanced over the top of her glasses, glaring at him, "Are we on a timer?"

"My heavily pregnant girlfriend needs food to function, otherwise she gets tetchy."

"I am hardly _heavily_ pregnant," Sybil said, rubbing her belly, "another three months to go."

"You look gorgeous," Isobel smiled, "makes me start feeling a bit broody."

"Here we go," Richard rolled his eyes, "she keeps going on about this now, after the wedding, after the honeymoon, baby time."

"Bloody hell this wedding," Sybil said, "it's bigger than William and Kate's! And I keep getting moaned at for growing and not fitting in the crappy bridesmaid dress. Gonna look like a right whale next to skinny sister one and two."

"Damn it Elsie, pick your food, the waiter's falling to sleep over there," Tom complained again.

She slammed her menu shut, "Alright! Shout him over, I'm ready. I'll have this seafood pasta thing."

Tom beckoned over the waiter. "Evening sir," he said, "I'll have the steak, medium rare, and chips not mash and pepper sauce on the side. Oh yes, and we need to get some more of this delicious bread because I'm starving and made fade away."

"He's so over dramatic," Sybil elbowed his arm.

"He always was," Elsie looked up at the waiter. "My turn? Okay, so I'll have –," Her phone rang, interrupting her order. "Oh, just a second…"

"For heaven's sake, Elsie," Tom groaned.

* * *

Charles narrowed his eyes as he stood statue still in the far corner of the room watching the service take place. In his mind he made notes, feedback for the following morning. He saw how one of the footmen bent over a few inches too far. How there was too much sauce in the saucière making it awkward to pour. He watched how Thomas organised his staff, noted how sharp the young man was, he couldn't fault his attention to detail nor his conscientiousness. His attitude towards the staff was another matter entirely. He kept hoping time, and maturity, would teach Barrow a few things about how to deal with people but clearly that wasn't yet the case.

Once dinner was served, Charles moved out of the room and into the back hallway. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his forehead – summer nights here were a damn sight hotter than back home.

Wandering down the thin corridor he made his way into the tiny pantry he knew would be empty and sat in one of the old wooden chairs in there; his stature dwarfing the old frame.

His phone was in his inside pocket and he found it out, checking the time – just after 19:30 in England – and quickly finding her number. Top of his call list. Just as with every time he called her he felt his pulse quicken; a nervous excitement at getting to speak with her, the anticipation of her voice; god her voice did things to him, the way she'd wrap her tongue around the curve of his name.

* * *

"I'm sorry," Elsie said, avoiding the gazes of her dinner guests. "Just order for me, I have to get – Hello darling," she said, her voice soft, turning her face away from them.

" _Hello beautiful, how are you? Where are you?"_

"Hi, I'm out for dinner."

" _Oh, I'm sorry, should I call back later?"_

"No, I don't mind, it's fine," she whispered, "but you can still call me later too."

She heard Tom smirk across the table from her and she kicked her leg forward and caught his shin.

" _Who's there?"_

"Erm, Tom and Sybil, Isobel and Richard, and me…"

" _Out with the couples."_

"Yes."

" _I wish I was there,"_ he said, closing his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall. _"Or you here."_

"Me too."

" _And then I'd be tilting your head back, trailing kisses down your neck and –,"_

"I can't…" she felt her cheeks blush. "Can you call me later? When do you finish, erm, when will you get back to the hotel?"

" _Elevenish perhaps, I can leave Thomas to finish tonight maybe."_

"Okay, I'll text you when I get home?"

" _Yes, do that. Have a nice night."_

"I will try. Don't work too hard."

He chuckled, _"No. Speak to you soon."_

"Okay. Bye sweetheart."

She shook her head, rolled her eyes as she saw the others around the table laugh.

"Now don't start," she said, putting her phone away. "I won't feel guilty for taking his call, he only has certain break times to call me."

"You're like a teenager," Isobel teased. "You never used to be like that! You'd decline phone calls if we were out having fun. I've seen you cut men down like dandelion heads."

"Yes well…" Elsie reached for her wine, taking a sip.

"Well?" Isobel asked, drawing out the single syllable.

"Well…" Elsie emphasised the word, staring resolutely at the table as she whispered, "he's different."

When she looked up again Sybil was smiling at her, sweetly and kindly.

"He is," she agreed nodding, before getting to her feet. "Now, I have to pee, again!"

* * *

Elise stood alone on the pavement, her eyes closed, hands dug into her jacket pockets and face turned up to let the summer breeze travel over her. Her hair blew lightly and she opened her eyes noting the clear night, a cloudless sky. She wondered what it was like where Charles was. He'd told her of the fine weather, the high temperature, the beauty of the sea, the luxury of his hotel suite.

It was almost half past ten and they were only just leaving the restaurant. She thought of Charles waiting for her text. Of him sitting alone in his hotel room waiting to call her. Of the late hour there and his anxiousness to get to bed and rest, and yet to talk to her too.

When did this happen? This need to communicate every day otherwise it was deemed a waste?

And then she giggled, laughing at herself. How ridiculous she'd become. One of those women she never had time for who was completely consumed by a man, distracted all night during dinner because she was thinking of him. How very rude she'd become, she must apologise.

She jumped back when someone touched her arm and found Tom beside her. His hand sliding around her elbow as he led her away from the chattering others and towards the car park.

"Do you want a lift?"

She eyed him suspiciously, "I can't believe you didn't drink all night."

"Responsible adult now."

She smirked, patting his hand, "I guess so."

"Now, Elsie, I'm going to be honest."

"That's a bloody first," they paused at the kerb edge, glanced down the road for traffic before crossing, her heels clicking on the pavement.

"You do know I love you."

"Stop taking the piss," she chided.

"Now hear me out, you've been a good friend to me over the years, stuck by me, supported me, all that shit friends are supposed to do but practically none can live up to it when the going gets tough."

"This is leading to a marriage proposal is it?" she teased. "A suggestion that impending fatherhood seems too much of a challenge so let's run away together?"

"No, a different kind of love," he said seriously, stopping by the car.

She let go of his arm, turned to face him, "I know what you meant." Her tone was calm yet warm. "What are you trying to say?"

"That you're distracted, irritable, a face like a slapped arse."

"Thanks very much!"

"Get the hell on a plane and go screw his brains out."

"Tom! You can't talk like that to me."

"I can and I just did! We were all thinking it."

Her shoulders sagged, cheeks burning, "I can't just _go_. Not now. Christ he's not even been away three weeks, I'm like some petulant child!" she shook her head, turned slightly as she noted the others getting closer. "I'm in the middle of these houses and just…"

"Well give yourself a week, sort things to a point you feel comfortable with. Get Anna to carry the can. Book some tickets." He squeezed her elbow. "Get on the bloody plane and get yourself some time in the sun."

She laughed, "You've turned into a real bossy bastard – is this what fatherhood does?"

"Maybe. Or age. Or lack of alcohol."

"Cheeky little sod," she leant forward and kissed his cheek. "I'm going to walk home."

"You are not! It's late."

"But it's light and I'm less than a mile away and I want the air."

"Elsie… I'm not going to let you walk alone. And Isobel definitely won't."

"I'm not a child."

He twirled his car keys on his finger, feeling Sybil move behind him, her hands on his waist. "Deal is this – I'll drop you at the end of the street, best I can do."

She smirked, "Fine. Bossy."

"Learned from the best."

* * *

Charles was dozing. Slumped in the middle of the King Size bed atop of the sheets, the air conditioning on high, the phone by his head on the pillow.

Perhaps he wasn't cut out for this business anymore. He was beyond exhausted, his brain felt like it had been filled to capacity, any more data and it'd burst open spilling useless information over the highly-polished expensive floors.

He forced open his eyes, heavy with sleep, and turned over his phone squinting at the time. He often wondered if he'd missed something with this device, it did things he didn't understand. He'd finally worked out how to get his emails quite easily, and now when Elsie sent him pictures he could save the ones he wanted to his memory. He'd tried sending her a few shots of his surroundings; some arrived in her inbox others disappeared into the ether. It never mattered before that he could do such things.

It was rather odd how much he was missing her. Painfully so. He'd travelled the world, spent months, years, away from home living with strangers. And yet this woman, who he still had to learn so much about, consumed his every thought.

Three days ago he'd heard from Alice. A text message, _'Hope you're having a good time. Stay safe. See you in a few weeks.'_ Usually something like that would have affected his mood, he would have been short-tempered for days, low, reflecting on his miserable, lonely existence. Time was the thing that made him snap out of such temperaments. Time and hard work and gradually she'd disappear from his mind, relegated to the edges of consciousness.

But not now. That text was deleted as soon as it arrived. Elsie's face smiling back at him from the screen.

He tapped his finger over the home key to light the screen and stared at her again, feeling his heart smile at her face. So this was happiness. Anything he'd ever felt before – triumphs as a child, success in work, joyful games of cricket on the village green in summer evenings, the first time he placed his hands on a female body – only fragments of what this was now. Something whole, complete, blooming inside him.

How he missed holding her.

* * *

Elsie was indeed dropped off at the end of the street. She had to text Tom when she got inside her house, feeling something like a child as she did so, and then she filled the kettle and texted Charles, "I'm home!"

He rang less than a minute later.

"Eager," she said, breathless, putting him on speaker and slipping her shoes off.

" _I've been waiting,"_ he said _, "where are you?"_

"At home, I said –,"

" _No, where exactly?"_

"In the kitchen, making tea."

" _Have camomile, it will help you sleep, better than ordinary at this time."_

"Yes Grandpa."

He chuckled, _"How was dinner?"_

"Fine. I fear I was rude, speaking to you, in fact _you_ would've hated that! And then I was distracted, not my usual chatty self."

" _Something bothering you?"_

"Yes," she poured water onto her teabag, "some _thing_."

Charles uncrossed his legs, sliding his arm across the plumped pillow beside on the bed, "Some _one_?"

"Are you digging?"

" _Perhaps,"_ he glanced to the window _, "do I need to try hard?"_

She laughed, "Maybe not. Tell me about your day."

" _It was full, and hot, my body is not built for extreme heat."_

"Be glad, it's still raining here."

" _Yes Pollyanna."_

She laughed, "Perhaps we should play that game. What are we glad of?" She turned off the lights downstairs, made her way up to bed.

" _I'm glad of the air conditioning here."_

"I'm glad of the thick duvet that's still on my bed."

" _I'm glad of fine Sherry… what are you banging at?"_

"Getting undressed."

" _I'm glad of the visual accompaniment in my head that enables me to envision this very thing."_

"Dirty old man."

" _I'm quite happy with that label at present, the way I feel."_

"Feeling in _need_ are you?" She climbed into bed, plumped her pillows, sat back with her tea cup.

" _Something like that."_

"And this from the man who went twenty-eight months without."

" _Twenty-nine, and I didn't know of your existence at that time or how bloody wonderful it can be."_

"Are you venturing into phone sex with me, Mr Carson?"

" _I wouldn't know where to begin," he felt his cheeks redden, "Let's talk about the weather again."_

She laughed, trailing her fingers across her chest, "Well, you usually start by describing what you're wearing. But as I'm naked…"

" _Jeez, Elsie, don't do that to me."_

"Okay, alright, I'm sorry. Did you get my email? The pictures?"

" _Oh yes, I did."_

"And…?"

" _S'nice."_

"What's that tone?"

" _What tone?"_

" _That_ tone. The Carson tone."

" _Nothing. Just, the kitchen tiles are purple."_

"They are," she smiled to herself, picturing his face when he'd opened the picture attachment. "And the problem with that is?"

" _It's not a problem, per se, just noting it."_

"It's cool Charles, the students will like it, the kitchen looks young and hip."

" _I have a slightly dodgy hip."_

She laughed again, sinking down into the bed, "I miss you." She exclaimed, closing her eyes. "I miss your hands on me."

Charles rolled onto his side, staring at the empty side of the bed, _"Yes. I miss that too."_ His voice was low, heavy with meaning. He heard her yawn and looked to his own clock, " _It's getting late."_

"Mmm, you best get some sleep. What time you start tomorrow?"

" _Need to be up at 5:00."_

"And with you dodgy hip."

" _Well, exactly."_ He said, chuckling.

"You are taking it easy, aren't you? Not overdoing it?"

He appreciated the concern in her voice, _"Yes. I'm trying to."_

"Good. Okay, well, go to sleep."

" _Alright."_

"Sleep well."

" _I will. You too."_

"Thanks."

" _Oh, and next time you send me photographs, can it be of you, not kitchens?"_

Her face broke into a wide smile, "Well, we'll see about that. Goodnight sweetheart."

" _Goodnight darling. Talk tomorrow?"_

"Of course. Have a good day."

" _And you, bye."_

"Bye."

For a few minutes she lay on her back staring at the ceiling, chewing on her bottom lip and turning her phone over in her hand.

Spain. It wasn't that far. Not really. Less than three hours on a flight to Palma, Majorca.

She turned over her phone, tapped open a webpage and googled 'flights to Majorca.' It was about time she sorted herself out and made a decisive move.

* * *

 _Please leave me a little note to let me know what you think xx_


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

 **Friday 22** **nd** **July**

He felt guilty when he left that morning, knowing he wouldn't be back until late and she'd arrive to the hotel with nobody to greet her. But beyond that was pure excitement. Like a child eager for the day to be over so he could be with her, see her, touch her. This was unchartered territory for Charles Carson, but then, she always had been. Right from the off.

He'd organised a car to pick her up and take her to the hotel. The weather was as fine as it had been every morning that he'd been there. Glorious. It made him feel alive and the fact she'd be joining him there seemed to give him that extra thrill at being alive, thankful for it.

There was something in her voice when she' rung and said she'd booked a flight over, if he still wanted her… as if he wouldn't. He'd joked about having to turf out the 25-year-old Spanish girl currently sharing the room with him but he didn't mind much.

And then the days had dragged, waiting for her arrival, despite the weeks apart those last few days dragged – perhaps he was just tired. Something about her being around calmed him, centred him, and he found that actually, as odd as it was, he worked better with her presence in his life.

There was nothing he could do about having to work, he'd managed to wrangle most of Saturday free and only work the evening. And when Sunday arrived he'd be free for the day. Already the time didn't seem long enough.

Still, when he drove away from the hotel that morning he felt a sense of exhilaration at the thought that when he drove back she'd be there.

* * *

"Good morning," Elsie said, smiling at the young girl as she approached the desk, grateful of the air conditioning in reception. "Elsie Hughes."

"Buenos días, Ms Hughes. You have a reservation with us?"

"Well I," she actually felt herself flush, keenly aware of other guests and how it would sound, she lowered her voice. "I'm staying with Mr Carson."

"Ah Señora," an older gentleman said, turning around to face her. "We have been expecting you."

He was English, though his accent bore the traces of having lived in Spain for many years, as did his skin, the kind of brown that was reminiscent of a life spent in the sunshine. His smile was stretched, teeth shining, iridescent.

"Señor Carson informed us of your arrival, I trust your journey was smooth."

"Yes, thank you, the heat is a bit of a shock I must admit after home."

The gentleman was half listening as he typed into the computer, "Rain in England?"

"Of course."

The both laughed politely.

He slid a form in front of her and she found out her glasses, "If you could just sign here, and on the back too, a few details."

"A-ha," she started scanning the form, adding her information, hoping this would be over quickly because she was dying for the loo now after several hours in transit (she had never been very comfortable about using the bathrooms on planes).

"Leonor," he said to the girl at the other end of the desk, "Fetch las flores de la oficina."

Slipping her glasses back into the pocket on the front of her bag, Elsie glanced up as Leonor returned from the office at the back of reception with a mammoth hand-tied bouquet of purple flowers. A silver ribbon around them and accentuated through the flowers themselves.

She laughed, "They're for me?"

"Señor Carson was very specific." He handed them across. "Matías," the gentleman waved across to a middle-aged man across the room. "Ms Hughes, Matías will escort you to your suite. You are of course in the Presidential suite."

Her eyes widened, "Am I?"

He smiled, "It's the best."

Well, of course, Charles wouldn't have agreed to this for less. He'd never been specific about money but she wondered just how much this 'well-to-do' family were paying him for his services.

She nodded her head, took the flowers, and followed the attractive porter out to a golf buggy. She felt something of a film star as she put her sunglasses on and sat in the back of the car, her summer dress blowing in the breeze, the extravagant flowers clutched in her hands as she was driven across the resort to where she'd be staying for the next week or so. She'd booked a return flight for a week later but already there was a part of her reconsidering her actual departure date.

Lucky Charles for living here for over a month.

Lucky, _lucky_ her for having him to go to.

When she was alone in the suite, standing in the middle of the lounge and gazing around in wonder at the luxury, she finally kicked off her shoes and sagged down, still holding onto the flowers.

Beside her was an oversized grey and cream striped sofa, across from that, by the first set of French doors, was a large high-backed chair with a foot stool and she could easily imagine Charles had spent many an evening sitting there reading. Or dozing.

There was a vase set out on the coffee table in the centre of the room and she moved towards it, resting the flowers gently into it and picking the card out. She shrugged her cardigan off as she flicked her finger under the envelope and opened the card to squint at Charles' swirled handwriting.

" _Purple = young and hip. See you later my darling, have a wonderful day. With love C x."_

She smiled. Running her thumb over the words and sighing happily.

She propped the card beside the vase, heading through the suite to the bedroom; the vast four-poster bed, the coolness of the room, all light and elegant. The image of Charles sleeping there alone filled her mind and she was almost eager for the day to be over so he'd be there, so they'd be there together.

She longed for him to hold her again.

The en suite was stylish but to be honest she couldn't really have cared less, she just wanted to wash her hands and use the loo. She filled a glass with water to add to the vase and trailed back through the rooms.

Yes, she believed the rest of her day would be rather 'wonderful'. They had a private pool, _a private pool_! She'd order some food, a drink or two, change into her swimwear and spend the rest of the day out there alternating between reading her book and making use of the pool.

Bliss.

* * *

Swiping his key card into the lock, Charles pushed open the door finding the suite illuminated by gentle lamplight. He was exhausted, shoulders aching, and the backs of his legs too – standing stock still these days was proving a hard task.

After weeks of being back in this routine he did as he usually would and went to shrug off his jacket, making his way through to the lounge he spotted her flowers on the coffee table and the thought that she was there returned to him. Flowed over him like joy replacing blood in his veins.

Eager, he left his jacket where it was and went through to the bedroom.

It was darker in there, but she'd left the curtains open by the tall windows at the side of the bed. He smiled as he stood in the light it offered and watched her sleep. On her back, arms above her head, as usual, her hair spread about her on the pillow. The sheets were gathered around her waist and she was wearing some kind of wonderful silk thing. He wanted to gather her in his arms, run his thumbs over her belly, her ribcage.

He moved forward, silently cursing as his knees hit the side of the bed frame, and she sighed, turned her head on the pillow towards him, eyes fluttering open.

"Hi," she whispered, waking languidly, smiling serenely.

"Hi," he smiled proudly at her. "You look stunning."

She smirked, "Hmm, I'm half asleep."

"Sorry I woke you."

"Don't be," she turned onto her side, looking up at him. "What time is it?"

"Just after two."

"You always so late?" She asked concerned.

"No, not always." He smiled softly at her. "Hi."

"You said that."

"I did?"

"I've never seen you in your butlering suit before." She reached forward, tugging at the hem of his coat.

He laughed, "My what?"

"Your butler suit. Butlering suit."

"Not sure that's a real word."

"Sure it is," she flopped onto her back again, "I just made it up. And you look very handsome in it."

"I do."

"Deliciously so," she felt awake now. She pressed her hands into the mattress, pushing her body forward as she sat up.

Charles simultaneously knelt on the floor, and they moved quickly, his hands sliding into her hair, hers over his shoulders, squeezing tightly as their lips met. He kissed her deeply; long, sweet kisses, until his lungs burned for air and they had to part.

"Did you cut your hair?" He asked, fingers trembling as they stroked the length of it.

"Two days ago, I wanted it to be a surprise."

"You're so beautiful," he kissed her again, felt like he was crawling out of his skin with need for her.

Her hands moved to his necktie, working on it and then his shirt buttons.

"I thought you liked the penguin suit."

"I do. I just like what's underneath it more."

He helped her take his shirt off. "God I've missed you." He crawled over the bed, kicking his shoes of as he did so. "This bed has been far too big without you."

"It is rather grand," he was smothering her chest in kisses, up her neck, over her shoulders, along her arms.

"I've missed…" kiss, "every inch of you."

She giggled, happy to lay back and enjoy his glorious attentions. She was only just awake and still floating in that soft, gentle way.

"Every freckled inch of you."

"I'll be even more freckled after a week in the sun," she pushed one hand through his hair, it looked even more silver in colour than when she'd last seen him.

He brought his face to hers, lying half over her, his trousers still on, his chest bare.

"You're so very brown," she noted, running her palms over his broad shoulders. "Your nose is red," she tapped her index finger against the end of it.

"I swear I've been wearing sun cream," despite the late hour his eyes were bright, sparkling with energy as he gazed down at her.

"I hope so, I did warn you."

"Yes madam," he kissed her forehead. "Hello gorgeous."

She smiled, hands sliding over the tops of his arms, taking her time, enjoying the feel of him above her. "You look distinguished and handsome too."

He raised his eyebrows questioningly, "Even with the giant red nose?"

"Yes," she ran her hands up to his hair again, over his ears. "You need to put cream here too; your ears are going red."

"Giant ears too, you see. Adds to the overall appearance."

"Ah yes, but a large nose," she tapped it again, "means large _other things_ …and I rather like that."

He chuckled, she never failed to cross the lines he'd had in place a lifetime. "You are…"

"…Naughty, I know." She moved her leg, nudged him with her knee, "Getting bigger I think too."

"Unquestionably naughty."

"Or stating the bleeding obvious."

"That too," he laughed, feeling like it was the first time he'd let go in weeks. He pushed himself back up and she watched as he got to his feet and disposed of his trousers and socks within seconds; his 'butlering suit' now nothing but a pile, discarded on the floor.

"Now then, I can see your white bits," she teased.

He shook his head at her, kneeling on the bed, pushing the sheets away from her body. "It's a good job I've got some white bits otherwise you'd wonder."

"Very true."

His hands were pushing up the silk negligée, exposing her inch by painfully wonderful inch. He bent to kiss her knees, up over the top of her thighs, delighting in the scent of her filling him all over again as if it were the first time.

"I bought this new, especially for the trip," she said as he pushed it up over her belly, kissing there too.

"And I've enjoyed the two minutes I've seen you in it."

"Mr Carson, really." He took his time peeling it from her breasts, the lacy top part leaving a delicate pattern upon her pale skin. "It wasn't cheap neither, I actually went farther afield than M and S."

He chuckled as she sat up slightly, assisting him as he lifted it over her head. "You could wear it for breakfast, out on the patio."

"You think we'll be up for breakfast?"

"Good point, late breakfast then." He leant across to lay the garment over the end of the bed.

"Or early lunch."

"Whichever," he crawled back to her, "it doesn't really matter." He settled above her, delighting in how her arms circled his body, in the feel of her breasts pushed against his chest, her belly against his.

"I suppose not," she smiled gently; no need to be flirtatious, just normal, just relaxed and open.

"I could stay here like this for hours upon end," he admitted, stroking her hair with one hand.

"You don't have to work tomorrow?"

"Just the evening, we can have the day together, and Sunday I'm all yours."

She pushed even tighter against him, cuddling him against her body, "Good. We can go somewhere."

"There's so much I want to show you, share with you."

"I'm looking forward to it," she nudged his chin with her nose until he kissed her.

Charles moaned contentedly, kissing her forehead, the top of her head, "Oh Elsie," he sighed happily.

"What?" Her voice was playful as she looked up at him.

"Nothing. Other than the need to make you scream out my name in pleasure… repeatedly… seems to have become of upmost importance."

"Not too tired?"

His eyebrows rose again, "Tired? With you like this after weeks apart?"

She chuckled, "Just checking," she patted his chest with her hand.

"May not be my best work, mind…"

"Oh I think we can make it halfway decent, if we really work together."

"Well," he kissed her lips, "My thoughts are that we work best when we work together."

"Agreed."

* * *

 **Saturday 23** **rd** **July**

"Well, good morning," Elsie said, glancing up from her book as Charles made his way outside, his hair still ruffled.

"Good morning," he smiled, leaning over to kiss her. "Did you order anything?"

"Just tea, and some fruit, I keep sitting here and picking at it."

She was sitting on the sofa in the shade on the terrace, watching as he stretched. He looked leaner, much leaner than when they'd started dating in January. No veranda over the toy shop now, as Peter Kay might say. She giggled as she thought of the joke and he turned to look at her.

"What?"

"Something in my book," she lied, marking the page and putting it aside. "Do you want to order anything?"

"Should we go out?"

"Alright."

She watched him walk out from the beneath the terrace, to the edge of the pool, and then in one smooth movement dive into the water. It surprised her, but then he had come outside in his swimming shorts, perhaps he did this every morning now, perhaps it was why the tummy was flatter.

He paused after a few lengths and she got to her feet, going over to the edge of the pool, shielding her eyes from the sun.

"This is all very sumptuous Charles, our own pool, all this space."

"There's a private garden too," he folded his arms, rested his elbows on the edge and touched her toes with his wet fingers.

"You must be damned good at your job."

He laughed, "I did say."

"Yes, but you never boasted."

She looked down at him, hair smoothed back from the water.

"Do you realise how happy I am that you're here?"

She tilted her head to one side, watching him, considering. Then she lifted up the vest top she was wearing and dropped it back onto one of the sun loungers. She was wearing her swimsuit underneath and he floated back in the water watching as she slid off her sarong and sat on the edge, dropping her legs into the water.

"Looking good, Miss Hughes."

"I tried to make an effort. In fact, I've been shopping frantically all week to make sure I had decent swimwear."

"A bikini…?" He asked gently.

She pursed her lips, narrowed her eyes as she looked across the water at him, "Perhaps."

"Come here," he said.

"I don't do well with commands. You come here."

"If I come over there I'll pull you in."

She laughed, "Yes, and suffer for it."

He turned to swim over to her as she dropped herself into the water, delighting in the coolness of it.

They met in the middle.

He touched his feet to the floor, slid his strong hands around her back as he held her and she lifted her legs up around his waist.

"This is the benefit of a private pool, see? I'd never do this in public." She lay back on the water, floating serenely, knowing he'd support her.

* * *

When Elsie came out of the bedroom she laughed. She hadn't meant to laugh. She knew it could be perceived as mean, cruel even, and she would never be either of those things to him.

"What?" Charles asked, chewing on the banana he was eating.

"Nothing…you just look…" she laughed again, "so very English."

He looked down at himself, "How so?"

"Just the shorts and the shirt… …the cricket hat."

He looked down at himself again, shrugging, pouting.

"Oh I'm sorry, sweetheart," she moved towards him gripping his arms. "I'm not laughing at you."

"Yeah. _Right_ ," he rolled his eyes.

"I'm not. Ohh…"

"I was just going to say how wonderful you looked too. Clearly I am going to embarrass you –,"

"No, no, never." She gripped his face, forcing him to look at her and kissing his face repeatedly. "My handsome man."

"Don't try to sweet talk me now."

"Oh don't play with me," she slid her arms around his waist, "honey…baby…sexy mother-,"

"That's enough."

She giggled, kissing him properly now.

"Do I look stupid?"

"Not at all," she twisted his hat, "you look distinguished."

"Are you ready to go?"

"Just a second, let me put a cardigan on."

"It's hot out there."

"I know but I burn easily, I'll take it off on the beach when I smother myself in cream."

"Alright, let's go, not waste time."

"Yes sir," she laughed, but actually his organisation, his need to get things done and his ability to make things happen quickly, fit so well with her approach to life it was like finding her other half.

It was too hot to hold hands as they walked, added to that, outside of the hotel the road slimmed in places and the pavement only allowed for single file. Elsie went in front, swinging her beach bag, Charles behind. He recalled seeing her in shorts that evening at her house – his first facial – and now thought how relaxed she looked in them. Her floppy hat, the sandals; it was a good look on her.

He felt lucky, as she paused at the end of the road and waited to cross, lucky and happy.

They walked a fair distance along the beach; Elsie would've been happy fairly close to the other hotel guests but Charles insisted they find a spot secluded from others. "We don't want kids running around," he proclaimed grumpily, and she thought how he sounded like a man who hadn't really spent much time at all with children. Neither had she really. But then, she wasn't a parent, he was. Albeit an accidental one.

They made it to some exclusive section of beach, doubtless his intention and one she thought very odd – that people could section off the beach and label it, as if by class. Such an old fashioned and worn out idea.

Nevertheless, when he hired grand sun beds, each with its own canopy, and credited it to their suite, she soon forgot about a) the walk and b) her issues with exclusivity. You were, after all, only on this kind of holiday a few times in your life.

"Good lord, it's hot!" He proclaimed, sitting on the edge of his bed, dropping his bag to the floor and quickly removing his shirt.

Elsie bit her lip, suppressing a smile. "So far on this trip have you spent any time outdoors or just in air conditioned luxury?"

"The latter," he pulled his handkerchief from his bag and wiped the back of his neck. "This man wasn't built for heat."

She watched him sympathetically as she undressed herself, and when down to her swimsuit, she knelt on the bed behind him, sliding her hands over his shoulders and kissing his cheek.

"Let me help."

"That kind of behaviour is only going to make me hotter."

She kissed him again, whispering, "My love…" and giggling naughtily.

"Minx."

Slapping his shoulders lightly she sat back, pouring sun cream onto her hands and covering his shoulders in it. Her fingers worked around to the back of his neck, down his back, his arms.

"Right, other side," she said, getting to her feet and coming around the side of the bed. "What's that look for?"

"Just, never had anyone do this for me before. Kinda nice."

She smiled at him, stepping between his legs to rub cream into his chest. "I'm hoping you'll return the favour."

"Darling, I would've done that without being asked."

He watched as she finished, "You'll need to do your legs I would think too," she tapped his nose with the top of the bottle, "and don't forget your toes."

"You're thorough in this skin protection thing."

"You have to be," she handed him the bottle. "Okay, my turn."

"Right," he groaned as he got to his feet. "Humans shouldn't have to work in this heat."

"Work? Applying my sun cream!" She laughed. "And plenty of the Mediterranean seem to have managed the work thing, not to mention all over the world."

"Don't be smart," he kissed her shoulder before rubbing the cream in.

"Would you like drinks, sir, madam?"

"Oh yes, thank you." Charles said, "I'll have a very cold beer. Elsie?"

"Morning," she smiled at the waiter, sympathising with him in his suit in this weather. "Or afternoon, not sure of the time."

The young man smiled in return, starched and standing tall as he listened to her order.

"Can I get some kind of fruit cocktail thing? You do that?"

"We do madam."

"That would be lovely, and some still water too please, and lots of ice."

"I will be back with these things."

"Thank you so much." She watched him walk away and then caught Charles' gaze, "What?"

"You feel sorry for him," he stated, getting comfy on his bed.

"Well yes, it's very hot and he's having to trudge back and forth to fetch us spoiled people drinks."

"He's being paid."

"Yes but…"

"But what?" He turned his head to watch her as she settled back. "Elsie? We all have jobs. Tonight I'll be doing a similar thing, fetching and carrying."

"I know," she put her sunglasses on. "I'm just saying. Let's move on." She laid her head back.

Charles watched her for a moment, then looked ahead to the sea, watching a few bathers splash about. There were no children in this section, which pleased him greatly, but some young couples were enjoying the water and he could see jet skis in the distance, a cruise ship easing across the horizon.

"You ever been on a cruise?" He asked.

"Mmm."

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes."

"Where'd you go to?"

"Not far, around the Med."

"You annoyed with me? Elsie?"

She turned her head to look at him, "No, why?"

"Short answers."

She smiled, "I was dozing. Yes, I went on a cruise and yes, it was nice. But not as nice as this." She held out her hand towards him, "Silly man. If I'm annoyed you'd know, believe me."

He squeezed her hand in return, "You want to go in the water?"

"Later, after our drinks, and I was going to try and read – hey, you read the book I gave you?"

"Yes!" He sat forward suddenly, "Yes, I did actually."

"And?"

"You know it wasn't half bad. Long winded in places, perhaps, and talk about convoluted…"

"Oh _but_ you enjoyed it?" She teased.

"Yes," he laughed. "So, you haven't started the one I got you yet?"

"Yedsterday, I was saving it for the trip."

"Ah, but when I got it you didn't know if you were going to come out here or not."

"Didn't I?" She stretched her body on the lounger. "Or did I?"

"You're such a tease, you love doing it."

They were laughing when the waiter returned with their drinks.

"So, tell me about the many places you've been. Didn't you say Australia was your favourite?" She asked once alone again.

"You know what, Spain has a certain appeal at present."

"Stop playing," she turned a little on the bed, sucking on the straw in her cocktail.

"Let's be honest, nothing ever really tops a weekend at the seaside, does it? As a kid, your parents, grandparents too if you're lucky. Donkey rides. Fish and chips."

"Candy floss. Doughnuts."

"Yes, rotting teeth," he laughed. "I called mum, by the way, she said she'd had a lovely time with _Emily_."

Elsie laughed, "Well, getting it right once was enough, right? We did have a nice time, actually, went for lunch and she insisted she needed a new bra so we went shopping for one."

"Thank god you handled that and not me," he took a long drink, "that's so good."

"Drink some water though too, in this heat."

"Yes mum – you been spending too much time with her." He suddenly laughed loudly, "Oh my goodness, have you seen my mother's breasts?"

"I don't kiss and tell, sweetheart."

He sniggered again, "Good Lord, I'll be forever grateful for you doing that for her." He watched a couple walking along the shore, they were about their age, well, about Elsie's age. He wondered how long they'd been together, where they met, if they were married, had children. He was still watching them as he spoke. "I am very grateful, Elsie, seriously, for all you've done with my mother. Such a relatively short space of time and yet you've changed so much for me."

"That' a very serious statement all of a sudden."

"I don't find it – I don't always find it easy with her," he admitted. "It's been downright unpleasant at times."

"I know. Perhaps it's easier because she isn't my mother, I don't know her 'from before', we don't have a past."

"Perhaps."

"Believe me, it's the same with my father. I heard from him, well, not him exactly. My aunt called me, day before I came out here." She sat up, pushing the cushion up behind her back and reaching for her drink.

"You never said," he turned his head now, to watch her carefully as she spoke. "Is something wrong?"

"Same problem as always – he won't slow down," she was glad her sunglasses hid her eyes, he watched her so intensely at times, digging down into her soul it seemed. "And then the money thing…the farm hasn't done well in years and I…well, I…"

"You support it?" He said flatly. "Financially."

She nodded, "It's the least I can do."

"In what way do you see that?"

"Well, I'm hardly much of a daughter otherwise."

"Elsie – you're a wonderful person. Whatever you did then –,"

"But he doesn't see that," she interrupted, "And we're so distant. I worry about him, I worry he's an old man now and he shouldn't be working himself into the ground because one day he'll just keel over in the field and…"

"Don't think like that."

"And then everything changes."

"In what regard?"

"I'll have to go home for one thing," she looked squarely at him, "drink some water, you look flushed."

He reached for a bottle from the ice bucket and took a drink to satisfy her.

"I'd have to move home, Charles," she said matter-of-factly, suddenly in need of being crystal clear with him.

"Move?"

She nodded slowly, measuring his response, "I couldn't upset Becky, she has a routine, the farm is the only place she knows. The village her home. I couldn't take her away from that and I couldn't leave her to be cared for by strangers… so I'll have to move home, take care of her. I'm sure I could run the business from there," she said practically, "I'd have Anna and I might have to sell my house, find alternative offices for it, if not I could sell it I suppose, maybe start again up in Scotland…"

"What about me?" He interrupted her listing.

"You…" she paused, took a deep steadying breath, "You see, you never figured in the equation. You're a surprise."

"Oh."

"I don't mean that in a spiteful way – I mean, you never figured in the equation _before_."

"And now?"

She shrugged, "I don't know Charles."

He put his drink down, turned on his bed and pressed his feet into the sand, "I don't know what to say to that."

"Are you upset with me?"

"Course not, just," he shrugged, "it's just a surprise. And I have no right to make demands, of any kind, we've hardly known each other long enough for me to…" he pushed his sunglasses back into his hair so he could look at her properly. "Don't go anywhere yet."

"I wasn't planning on it," she smiled, sadly. "Shall we go for that walk now?" She got to her feet, "In fact, let's go swim."

"Yes," he said lowly, watching as she made her way down the beach. He got to his feet, following slowly behind her. It had never occurred to him before that she might not be around. And really, what right would he ever have to ask her to stay? To leave her sister? Love or not.

"Come on," she called back, turning to face him, salty water lapping around her feet as she stood in the surf. "Hurry up."

She was right of course. Make the most of the time they had together; whether it be a short term thing – like him working that night, or the fact one day she might just move 200 miles away.

* * *

 **Tuesday 26th July**

Charles had worked almost non-stop since Sunday – making up for his day off, carrying a sense of guilt for having left Thomas to run things without him.

It made for two things.

One – Elsie feeling like she was holidaying alone, again, or as usual. And two – a grumpy Charles. Exhausted and carrying around dual guilt; torn between his dedication to his work and at having Elsie there but paying her little attention.

These things were weighing on his mind when he got back on Tuesday. Elsie had made him a cup of tea as he'd changed into lighter clothes and he'd collapsed on the bed, closing his eyes for a good fifteen minutes as she chatted to him about her day spent wandering about the nearby town. About the market and the things she'd seen whilst there; gorgeous fruits, a beautiful bright scarf she'd purchased for her sister, handmade local jewellery which she'd resisted buying for herself.

When he felt himself drifting to sleep he sat up purposefully. Drank his tea and opened the English newspaper which was delivered to his room every day.

Elsie was pottering about. Tidying the shelf in the bathroom where her toiletries had toppled over, putting away her swimwear that had dried in the late afternoon sun, brushing her hair, changing her dress. Waiting for him to finish his paper, she filled a glass with cold water in the en suite, carried it out in the bedroom – where Charles still lay on the bed – and into the main room. She bent at the coffee table, tilted the flowers back slightly and tipped the water into the vase.

"Oh sod it," she exclaimed as at least a quarter of the liquid hit the glass table top.

Carrying the glass back to the bathroom she took a washcloth from the cupboard beneath the sink and carried it back through.

"What's happened?" Charles asked, peering over his glasses at her.

"Spilled the water."

"Oh," he took his glasses off, closed his paper and sat forward watching her. "Shouldn't have used such a large glass."

"I know," she lifted the vase, wiping the water from the table.

"Would've made less mess carrying it through to the bathroom."

"Mmm."

"And took less time too, this is an added bother."

She stood up, glaring at him, "Is this pick on Elsie night?"

He shrugged, "Just saying." And flopped back against his pillows.

"And of course you know best."

"Did I say that?"

"Your tone said it." She marched past him into the bathroom, rinsing the cloth. "And I don't need somebody pointing out my failings, thanks very much." She dried her hands, stood by the bed watching him. "Are we going then?"

"Going where?"

"You said you'd come for a walk."

"It's getting late Elsie," he sighed.

She rubbed the heel of her left foot into the top of her right foot, "Yes but…" she stopped herself, glancing back through to the lounge, through the broad windows to the still light, beautiful evening.

"But?" He was watching her, looking over his glasses again like a stern professor.

"Nothing," she shook her head, "I'll go alone. I know the way down to the beach and back."

"You are not going alone."

"Excuse me?"

"I said, no."

"Am I a child?"

He shrugged, turning his attention back to his paper.

"What's that mean?"

"What do you think it means Elsie?"

"That you think I'm a child? Or acting like one."

"If that's what you think," he turned the page, deliberately keeping his eyes from hers.

"You can be a real old bastard at times," she snapped, trudging out of the bedroom and into the lounge. She found her sandals by the French doors and pulled them on; pushing her hair back she pulled it high and twisted it round, yanking the band from around her wrist to tie it.

"You're not really going?" He called from the bedroom.

"Watch me!"

She pushed open the door and stomped out.

* * *

It took him three minutes to get to his feet, slip on his shoes and sunglasses and follow after her.

He kept at a distance, but when they were alone on the road he called out, "I'm sorry."

She turned around, surprised to see him there, stopping and waiting as he got closer, the loose strands of her hair blowing in the early evening breeze.

"Why are you sorry?" She asked as he got close, shading her eyes from the setting sun with her hand at her forehead.

"For being snappy. I'm tired, and grumpy." He shrugged, "I forget this is your holiday and I can be a bit of a killjoy, I know that too."

She pursed her lips, twisted her mouth, "I suppose it wasn't the best of ideas."

"What? The walk?"

He regretted that as soon as he'd said it going by the way her eyes widened.

"No, the trip."

"Coming here? Why?" He was genuinely hurt by that.

"You're working, I'm not, the two don't really mesh. I've never been very good at just sitting around. I like to get out and do."

He pressed his hands to her shoulders, "Don't go."

"I'm not going anywhere, I paid for my flight!"

He laughed, "God you're a challenge."

"And you're easy?"

He shrugged, "Easiest person I know." He winked, "I like having you here, I like 'coming home' to you."

"That makes me sound like some kind of housewife."

"No, I didn't mean –," he sighed, "I mean I like it because I want to share things with you, I like talking to you when I get back and having you next to me at night."

"I like that too," she placed a quick kiss to his lips. "Don't try and 'boss' me though Charles, I'm not one of your staff."

He closed his eyes, embarrassed, "I know. God knows I know that! Miss Independent. Marching off like that."

"I can make my own decisions, do my own thing. Heaven forbid someone try and tell me what to do. Though if I boss you… that's a different matter."

He squeezed her tight against him, amused by her teasing, "I could just…ohh."

"Mmm," she kissed him again, "let's not fall out. It's a beautiful evening."

"And you want this walk," he nodded, "I know." He hooked his arm through hers, "Let's go, demanding, confusing, irresistible Ms Hughes."

"Oh right," she fell into step beside him, "and what should I label you? Grumpy old Carson?"

"If it fits."

"Rarely," she squeezed his hand, "and besides you're my grumpy old man, so that makes a difference."

She stopped at the edge of the beach, leaning against the wall to slips her sandals off, "Come on then," she said, "you'll get your shoes wet."

"I wasn't planning on going in the water."

"Just a splash," she dug her toes into the sand, "and then there's that restaurant we saw, we can have dinner there."

"Not at the hotel?"

"For a change," she looked up at him, wide-eyed, "I've got my bag, I have money."

"That wasn't what I meant."

She took his hand, pulling him forward across the sand. "Honestly, didn't somebody once say first holidays together either make or break a new relationship?"

"I thought it was first illnesses."

"Well, we've already had that, my cold."

"Oh yes," he chuckled, "and we made it through."

"Should be fine with this then."

She walked directly to the water's edge and, without pause, waded in to her shins.

"Don't wet your lovely skirt," he said, amused by her carefree nature.

"I'm not going any deeper," she sighed happily, tilting her head back as she relaxed, "this feels so good."

Charles stepped forward, let the water tickle his toes, "It is nice. Especially after being sweating in leather brogues all day." He closed his eyes, pleasure evident as the sea breeze caught his face.

He felt Elsie's arm slide around his waist, "We've been tetchy with each other tonight," she said softly.

"A-ha," he agreed, "I guess it happens."

"I guess so."

A thought occurred to him; he opened his eyes, looked down to his right, "Still love me?"

"Oh I think so."

"Good," he felt his chest puff with pride as she spoke, as he took in how very beautiful she looked. He copied her move, slid his arm around her back.

"Still love me?" She asked in return.

"More and more with every tetchy word we share."

Elsie turned to face him, giggling, her back to the ocean. Charles' arms curled around her, and she kissed him, oblivious to the other holidaymakers still enjoying their evening.

* * *

"What do you _not_ want to happen?" He said as he watched the liquid red fill their glasses, tilting the bottle slowly upright again, placing it back on the table and pushing her glass across the table to her.

"With us?"

"Yes, tell me, be honest."

"Wasn't that where we started? Honesty?"

"Our first date, yes," he laughed. "Brutally honest, I think were the words."

She lifted the glass to her lips, savoured the richness of the wine as it puddled upon her tongue. "I could never cope with you cheating on me, I know, I mean I get that men see sex differently…"

"Not necessarily," he said quickly.

"Well, plenty seem fit to stick their dick into whatever's on offer."

"Elsie!" His voice rose minutely, demeanour stiffening at her language.

She held her hands up apologetically, "Sorry, I forget it's you." She shrugged, "I'm just saying. And I couldn't deal with that, not just about the sex, it's about –,"

"Trust. I know that." He turned his glass on the table, watching the base form a perfect circular imprint in the tablecloth. "You feel you can trust me?"

"Yes," she said quickly, "And we're… we're more than just _that_. How it's been before."

"Are you trying to tell me I'm different to other men?"

She leant forward, a slight smile playing across her face, "Perhaps. In some ways." She took a drink of her wine, "You know you are. I wouldn't have said I love you, in fact I wouldn't have fallen in love with you if you weren't. You're very – are you blushing?"

"Not at all."

"You are," she chuckled.

"Don't let's go on about it."

"Why do you find it so hard?" She asked, watching him over the top of her glass.

"Hard to do what?"

"Accept a compliment, to accept that I care?"

"I might ask the same of you," he chuckled falsely, no smile on his face. "You're hardly one to comment, if I recall correctly Madam Hughes doesn't take too well to people showing their affection."

She uncrossed her legs beneath the table, felt the slickness on her skin between her thighs, the soft sheen of moisture upon every inch of her skin. She would be glad of their hotel room, glad of the automatic cool air.

"Do you remember much of our first dinner out together?"

"Don't change the subject."

"I wasn't, I was getting around to it," she sipped her wine, put the glass aside. "Order that ice cream and we'll share it."

He raised his eyebrows but beckoned to the waiter anyway and placed the order.

"So, our dinner," she said, folding her hands on the table. "We discussed getting used to being let down."

"We did?"

"You don't remember our first date?"

"I remember bits of it."

"Which bits?"

"I remember you wore a great dress."

"I wore trousers."

"So you did," he laughed, "You know I was joking?"

"I read the tone correctly, yes."

"I remember the trousers. I remember you ordered crab cakes and we had a young waiter who you know because his sister worked for you. I remember the way you looked at me when you spoke of the chances of meeting somebody who was right for you, and our kiss at the end of it all."

"You kissed my cheek."

"I did. I was trying to hold back, give you space."

"I know," she turned her head, watched the sea coming in to shore from their vantage point in the open-air restaurant, felt the salty breeze of it upon her skin. "This is an odd conversation."

"What were you going to say to me?" He kept his tone measured, warm and reassuring – he didn't want either of them to close off now.

"I was going to say that during that date I started to reflect on how ridiculous it was that at my age, our age, I'd only just started to open up to a man – I mean, good god, how many dates had I been on over the years?"

"I'd rather not think!" He blustered.

"Oh Charles," she laughed, reaching to touch his hand, "just dates, not all invited back for _coffee_ …just half or so. Maybe 60%."

"Stop winding me up."

"I'm sorry. I just thought, that night, well, I thought about how much I liked you. I genuinely liked you. And we got on and that was…unexpectedly nice." She shrugged, "and kinda scary too."

"Scary?" He questioned, pausing as the waiter placed a very large, tall glass of ice cream between them with two long spoons.

"Now this is what I'm talking about," she said, picking up her spoon and laying her napkin in her lap again.

He joined her in digging in, but the conversation was far from over.

"Why am I scary?" He asked.

"I didn't say you were, I said the situation was."

"And why is that?"

"Because, you know, it seemed kind of grown up."

"And you're not?" He queried, digging down to the mango sorbet at the bottom of the glass.

"Now we're not returning to the earlier statement, are we? Me being a child?"

"Don't put words in my mouth, Elsie."

She smirked, "Do you know I cried. Isn't that ridiculous?"

"When? That night?"

"No, after our second date. In the snow."

"The walk? The breakfast?" He put his spoon down, "How did I not know this?"

"Because you were driving home, we'd just kissed on my doorstep and I'd gone in and –,"

"Why did you cry?"

"I felt, anxious, maybe, scared."

"But why?"

She put her spoon down too, pushed the glass to one side. "It's hard for me to explain. You get so used to being on your own, I mean I'm not 'on my own' exactly, but even when I was dating someone I was. It was easier for me to put up this 'protective wall', you know. Not get emotionally involved."

"I get that."

"And you'd chipped it." She picked her spoon up, tapped it against the side of the glass. "It made me nervous, how you did that."

"I didn't intend to make you nervous. Or anxious. I'd certainly never mean to make you cry.

"It was hardly your fault. I don't like to feel unsafe. And with you there's an element of that, because I'm trusting you won't let me down."

"You said you do trust me."

"And I do, but still…" she leant back in her chair, nervously looking up at him. "But still."

"This conversation is baffling me."

"I know, let's pay the bill and go."

"No, don't rush off, I didn't mean I wanted it to end. I want to understand."

"I'm female, it's very difficult to understand. I drive myself round in circles with my insecurities. There's no rhyme or reason to it."

"Elsie…"

"I'll get there, I hope, in time. I mean I'm pretty good at the whole friendship thing, so I'm sure I'll get the hang of this."

"Neither one of us knows what we're doing."

She reached for his hand, "Oh but that's the joy of it."

Later, when he was lying with his head on her breasts, her arms wrapped around him, their discussions from earlier seemed to evaporate. This was peace, naked with her, in the cool, quiet room.

"You can't sleep there all night," she whispered, kissing his head. "You're too heavy."

"Don't make me move," he placed sleepy kisses to her skin. "Blissful."

She smiled, closing her eyes, stroking her nails along his back.

"You smell of sun cream," he said, "and perfume, mixed together."

"I do top it up every hour, sun cream that is." She sighed, "It's Wednesday tomorrow, the end of the week is rapidly approaching and I don't want to go."

Now he looked up, blinking at her face in the darkness, "Don't go."

"My flight's booked," she lifted her hand, brushed his errant hair back into place, smiled at his childish pout.

"Cancel it. Rebook it." He kissed her chest repeatedly, "Don't go."

"You finish on Sunday, don't you? You'll be coming home."

"Yes but we haven't done enough here together, I want you…" he lay on top of her, positioning his face by hers. "I want you to stay so we can holiday properly. Not me working and you being alone."

She folded her arms tight around him, "And where do you propose we stay, if indeed I do change my flight?"

"Do it, change it. I'll find us somewhere to stay."

"We certainly can't afford this place. If it even happens to be free."

Charles thinks he probably could but says nothing, "I'll find us somewhere small, secluded. Just a bed and a stove."

She laughs, "From one extreme to the other."

He kisses her now, properly, "Love you," he whispers against her mouth, his eyes closed.

Hers are open and she's so close to him, his face so close to hers, she thinks this must be what real love feels like. "I love you too."

"So?" Now he is looking at her, the earlier pout replaced with childish earnestness.

"I'll call the airline tomorrow. You do realise it'll cost me, don't you?"

"I'll reimburse you." He rolled onto his back, pulling her on top of him, her body toppling as she at first yelled and then laughed in delight. "I'll make it worth your while."

"Yes," she kissed him, then settled in her usual spot, her head on his chest – warm, comforting. "I'm sure you will."

* * *

 ** _It's taking me an age to update as it seems this website still does not like the Mac - frustrating!_**

 ** _Anyhow, please let me know what you think of the first glimpse into their 'holiday', it's much appreciated. xxx_**


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

 **Thursday 28** **th** **July**

"So, I found a little place," he says on Thursday morning, doing his tie in the mirror, Elsie watching as she lay on her stomach on top of the bed.

"Oh? Where are we going?"

"Not far, I mentioned it to some of the staff at the house," he turned to look at her, "the PA."

"Fancy."

"I know. That's money for you, I guess they earned it."

"Aren't they rich through old money, family wealth?"

"They are but still…" he saw her pull a face but ignored it and went on. "Anyway, a place was suggested, it's not usually rented out, or not been rented out in a while. But I said we'd take it for a week, and I hired a car too as from tomorrow."

"I'm impressed," she flopped onto her back, looking backwards at him.

He turned around, "I make things happen, see," leant over her and kissed her mouth. "Kissing you upside down is odd."

She stroked his arm, enjoyed the quality of his shirt, "Come back to bed."

"You know there's nothing else I'd rather do," He reached for his jacket off the hanger. "But I'm almost done."

"What do I have to do to convince you…?"

"Elsie…"

She rolled over again, moving onto her knees, "Because you know I'd do pretty much anything."

"Damn it, Elsie," he caught hold of her arms, holding her as he knelt in front of her and kissed her deeply. "Stay right there and I'll be back in about ten hours."

"Oh, if I'm lucky," she laughed. "I'm going to get the bus and go into the next town," she said, climbing back beneath the bedsheets and lying down. "After I've read my book for a while, had some breakfast, general laze around in the pool, that kind of thing."

"And tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow I am making use of the spa facilities, having my eyebrows done," she waggled her hands at him, "my nails, general tidying up."

He felt his neck warm, "I won't press you for details on that, women's stuff."

Elsie laughed, "Does it embarrass you? You benefit from it."

"How do you figure that out?"

"Because you clearly prefer…"

He held his hand up, "Wait, let's just leave that, on second thoughts." He took his phone from the bedside table and popped it into his pocket, "Just have fun. I booked a table for tomorrow night by the way, last night in this hotel, we ought to make the most of it."

"I might look for a new dress then."

"Alright," he leaned over her again, "see you later darling."

"Bye," she lifted her mouth to his. "Have a good day."

* * *

 **Friday 29** **th** **July**

As it was she didn't wear the new dress.

She'd been brave, opted for red, which was a colour she never went for really, but there was something about it that caught her eye. Hanging in the window of a local store she'd felt compelled to at least try it – it fit so she bought it.

But then when it came down to the evening she'd opted for one of the black ones hanging in the wardrobe and played it safe.

Charles had been late back, and flustered and exhausted and grumpy with it. Stomping through their suite as she put her hair up in the bedroom.

"Hi," she'd chirped from her position by the mirror. "I had the most wonderful time today."

"Mine was lousy, bad organisation, I let things slip," he ripped his tie off, kicked his shoes to the side of the bed.

"Oh?" She turned to face him; his face was flushed, cheeks red. "Are you alright?"

"Just annoyed with myself, I never do anything less than – forget it. Do I have time for a shower?"

"I think so," she moved to pick his shirt up from the floor, folding it neatly and laying it on the end of the bed. "You're tired," she placed a hand to his bare chest, "you seem tired, do you think we ought to stay here? We can order to the room."

"Absolutely not."

He saw the look on her face and chastised himself. Bringing his hand up to squeeze her shoulder he breathed deeply and found a softer tone, "Absolutely not because it's the only thing that's got me through the day, the thought of having a romantic meal with you."

"Oh it's going to be romantic is it?"

"I certainly hope so, I asked for the best table."

She smiled, "Go get your shower then, then we can get all _romantic_."

* * *

By the time they were escorted to their table Charles' mood had lifted; partly by the fact that he was looking forward to a top class meal, the fact he was now officially 'on holiday' for a week but mostly down to the fact Elsie looked so downright gorgeous.

He couldn't have felt prouder as he walked in with her, his hand slipping to the base of her back as she moved in front of him and toward their table. He remembered doing that on their first date, his hand hovering near her back, how nervous he'd been then, how unsure of where this would go or even if he'd make it through the night without turning her off.

"Let's order Champagne," he whispered across the table to her. "Make the most of it, last night here."

"In absolute luxury."

"You look beautiful, have I said that?"

"You were rather distracted by your bad mood."

"I apologise for that; I'll get the Champers to say sorry."

She let him order it whilst she looked at her menu, ordering, in the end, three of the specials.

"So, you want to tell me why you felt so stressed when you got home?"

He took a sip of his water, "I like how you say 'got home'."

"You know what I mean."

"I do know what you mean, but I like how you say it nevertheless."

"Okay," she felt herself blushing and looked away. "Lots of couples here tonight."

"Mm, Friday night isn't it."

"I guess so. So, why was your day so bad?"

He folded his hands, "It wasn't bad, just long, just stressful. I realised maybe I'm getting too old for it. Maybe I should give it up altogether."

"Oh. And how do you feel about that?"

"Sad, actually. I worked hard, I mean I've always worked hard but I worked hard to make a name for myself. With the business I mean."

"I know what you meant."

"Times like these…" he paused as the waiter poured their Champagne, lifted his glass instantly towards her, "To the pleasure of your very wonderful company, Elsie Hughes."

"Why thank you. And to yours." She tapped her glass against his and took a sip, "That was a nice toast."

"I'm sitting here with a nice lady."

"I like being referred to as a 'lady'. Now, tell me, what were you going to say? Times like these make you what?"

He swallowed his drink, resisting the urge to take a gulp. "I was going to say it makes me wish I had somebody to pass it on to. It's ridiculous, clearly, but just sometimes," he shrugged, "I don't know."

"Can I ask something sensitive?"

"Just as our starters arrive?"

She sat back as the scallops were placed in front of her, "They smell delicious. You want my lemon?"

"I'll see how I get on. So, what's your sensitive thing?"

"Well, do you think, I know what you said before, but do you think you'll ever tell William? You said about that account for him. The money."

"I did, didn't I?"

The look on his face made Elsie wish she'd never asked, she hadn't meant to trouble him, it just seemed such a logical step in their conversation.

"You don't have to answer –,"

"No, it's fine, I want to. There's nobody else I'd talk about this with." He put his cutlery down, pushed his plate aside, "I suppose it depends on her."

"Alice?"

"I wouldn't want to hurt her…"

"Excuse me?" She snapped, then caught herself, sitting back in her chair and taking a long drink.

"You disagree, clearly."

"I just think," she shrugged, "it's not for me to say."

"Please, go on, do, I don't mind. I'd like to hear what you think."

"What I think is that this woman has treated you badly, knowingly so, for many years. For too many years. And you need to step back from her, step back from worrying about hurting her and do what's best for you."

His eyes tightened, jaw lifted, "She's treated me badly?"

"That's what I think, Charles. But then it is just my opinion, I don't know the ins and outs of it, granted. So, maybe I shouldn't give my opinion."

"I asked for it."

She nodded, how quickly the atmosphere had become uncomfortable.

"Maybe she has," he said after a while, refilling their glasses. "But who knows what's it like for her, being in that position."

Elsie bit her lip, shifting in her seat.

"What? Just say it."

"Nobody forced her to have sex with you."

Charles glanced about quickly, "Don't say the 's' word so freely at dinner."

"Nobody's listening, I could stand on the table and flash my breasts and some of these diners would only give me a second glance."

"I doubt that."

"Well, I'm just saying. Nobody did, she made her choices, that's all. And I think she's very aware of what she's doing, what she's done."

"You clearly dislike her."

"Oh I don't know; I don't want to be that jealous girlfriend type. It isn't that. I just see how she is with you, she draws you in, purposefully. At your birthday, the way she leans in to you, touches you like it's all casual and easy. I let her do that then, but if she ever does it again –,"

"Have things changed?"

"Of course. I'm madly in love with you now, completely, if she touches you again I'll –,"

"Madly?"

"You keep cutting me off."

"Sorry. Completely?"

She smiled, shaking her head, "You're steering the conversation elsewhere."

"My prerogative."

"Is it?"

"I don't want to argue over her."

"We're not arguing." She reached to touch his hand on the table, "All I'm saying is he is _your_ son, and if you want a relationship with him, as messy and painful as it may be in the start, then that's your decision, not hers. He's an adult now, he's old enough to make up his own mind about whether he wants a relationship with you or not."

"Perhaps."

"Okay, let's talk about something else. Select a topic."

"Erm… where do you stand on Earl Grey?"

She replied instantaneously, "Awful, what's wrong with Yorkshire Tea?"

Charles laughed, which made Elsie laugh, and the momentary awkwardness was gone.

* * *

"Sorry if I got on my high horse," Elsie said later as they walked around the complex and back to their private suite, her arm hooked through his. "Over Alice, I didn't mean to get heated over it."

"Yes, it didn't seem like you, to get like that."

She smirked, "It was very like me, Charles. If we're together I don't want some other woman thinking she has a hold over my man."

"We're very much together."

"I know. Hence my reaction."

He tilted his head towards her, "I would never have thought."

"That I can be jealous? Of course."

"You have no need to be."

"Oh but how many times did I tell you that over Tom…?"

"Point made. What would you do? Surely not fight for me?"

"You're enjoying this," she nudged him in the ribs.

"Just a little fantasy finally coming to fruition – two women fighting over me."

She loosened her arm from his, walked ahead of him, turning to face him, her tone sassy and teasing, "I wouldn't fight. You want her, off you toddle, but there'll be no coming back."

"Oh no?"

"Definitely not."

He shook his head, "Tease," and moved quickly to catch her up and grab her arm. "There'd be no choosing of her over you. Ever. We clear on that?" He said, suddenly serious.

"Yes," she was breathless, which surprised her, "Very clear."

"This is it, you know. You do know that, don't you? You and I – this is it."

That statement, as stark and simple as it was, made her breathless too. And dizzy. She leant against his arm as much for support as comfort.

"Yes, I think I know that."

"You think you do?"

"We haven't discussed it."

"Our future?"

She quickly pressed her hand to his chest, "Let's not. Not now." She stood on her tiptoes, feeling simultaneously nervous and excited. "Let's get back to the room. I want to swim."

"Now?"

"We have a private pool. Let's make the most of it."

If Charles was surprised, or even annoyed, by her avoidance of the topic, he let it slide. He followed her back to the suite, keeping up with the pace she set.

"Pour some drinks," she'd said when they got through the door. "I'll meet you by the pool."

"Alright," he stripped down to his boxers, realising his clothes were now all packed and ready for transportation to a new 'home' for the next week, and made them up G&Ts, plenty of Gin, and followed her outside.

The black dress she'd been wearing was laid out on one of the loungers, and it was only as Charles bent to place their drinks on the table that he noted her underwear lay on top of it.

"Did you…?" He looked up sharply to where she floated leisurely in the pool. "Elsie Hughes, are you…?"

"Don't put the drinks there, we can't reach them."

"Elsie?"

"Come and get in here."

With his mouth twisted into a smile he made his way to the edge of the pool, bending to place their drinks down, his eyes seeking her body through the blue. The lights danced on top of it, the air was warm, and above him the sky inky, studded with stars.

"Well?" She said expectantly. "Are you getting in?"

"I'm not sure how to?"

"You could try jumping."

"You know what I mean, I suspect you're naked."

She pursed her lips, "Why not give it a try? Could loosen you up Mr Carson, after a very heavy month of work."

"Christ you're good," he pushed at the band on his underwear, hooking it with his thumbs and pushing them down, kicking them aside. "No jokes now."

She raised her hands in a sign of innocence, floated back in the water, tantalisingly so as he caught a glimpse of her breasts.

"And you wouldn't even wear that bikini the other day."

"That was different, we were going to a public beach."

"You looked sensational, I did tell you that, right?" he said lowly before diving in and swimming along the bottom of the pool.

She was smiling enigmatically when he emerged in front of her, pushing a hand through his hair. "That felt good."

"Nice, isn't it?"

He smiled, gathering himself as he placed his hands on top of the water either side of her body. "Very refreshing."

"Would the old Mr Carson have swum naked in his hotel pool?"

"The old Mr Carson? You mean the one that existed prior to meeting you?"

"Something like that."

"Stop moving."

"Maybe you have to catch me," she twisted again, onto her back, then her front, until she was at the other end of the pool with nowhere to go.

"I already did the catching part, didn't I? Months ago."

"You did pester me for a while."

"Pester?!" He caught hold of her foot.

Elsie giggled, tugging on her leg until Charles' strong arms held her body and lifted her legs around his waist.

"You know," she said, her hands draped over his shoulders as he held her tight, turning them in the cool midnight water. "Beryl didn't think we'd last."

"Oh?"

"She told me a couple of months ago. Said I always push men away, never let myself fall for them."

"I see."

"So, maybe I didn't only change you. Perhaps you changed me too."

"Perhaps. Or maybe we just complement each other."

She smiled, "Yes, maybe that too. Why are you laughing?"

"It just dawned on me I'm actually naked in the pool with my girlfriend, at my age, and it feels rather wonderful."

She nudged his nose with hers, drawing him into a long, sweet kiss.

"Love you," she whispered against his lips.

"I love you too. Very much."

"Very, _very_ much?" She teased, jiggling in his arms.

"Very, very, _very_ much! Especially when you move like that."

"You wanna do it here or move inside?"

He chuckled, "You're so forthright about it."

"Just want to check."

He laid her back in the water, bent his head forward and kissed her stomach.

"I guess that's decision made," she smiled, closing her eyes.

"Maybe this is just foreplay."

She lifted her hand up, ran her fingers into his thick hair. "Maybe."

Charles' hands slid beneath her back, one lifting her up in the water until her breasts were visible, glistening in the moonlight.

"You are stunning." He kissed her stomach again, felt her thighs tighten around his waist, the heel of one of her feet pressing into his bottom. "I honestly," he started, gasping out words between kisses, "can't believe I'm this lucky."

"Will you still feel the same when I'm old and grey and these are saggy? Saggier?"

"Won't happen." He pulled her back to him, lifted her again and moved them back through the water until they were at the end near their drinks, half hidden beneath the veranda that hung over one section of the pool.

He lifted her, which made her yelp, and sat her down on the edge, remaining between her legs, her feet by his side.

"You didn't want to talk about the future," he pointed out.

"Didn't I?" She twisted her mouth, reaching for the drink he'd prepared for her and taking a sip.

"You don't think we have one?" He squeezed her feet in his palms, rubbing the soles with his thumbs. "Worried you'll go off me?"

She took her time in answering, "Why can't we just enjoy now? Is there anything wrong with that?"

"Nothing at all. I just wondered, being with you this week, it made me think."

"I understand that. But this started in January, and look how far we've come already. For a start we haven't killed each other on our first holiday."

"Oh I don't know; you've tried pretty much every night."

"Ah!" She splashed his face with water. "That's naughty."

He was laughing as he helped her slip back into the water, wrapping her body in his arms as he kissed her.

"Sexiest moment of my life," he whispered, "happening right now."

"It's nice in water, kinda supports your body."

"You would've done this before," he stated, pouting.

"Haven't you?"

"Clearly not. I've led a very sheltered life."

She smirked, shaking her head, "Of course you have. Luckily now you know me."

"Luckily."

"Mmm," she kissed him again, hummed against his lips in that way she knew he loved. "Charles." She said lowly, watching his face, his eyes closed, a delighted expression settled comfortably on his features.

"Yes?" He kissed her neck, "Darling Elsie."

His voice was so endearing, so like the water that lapped about their entwined bodies, that at that precise moment she could think of nothing better than making sure their futures remained entwined.

Whatever she was going to say disappeared.

"Yes?" He said again, his lips so tender against her skin.

"Make love to me," she finally breathed, her fingers lacing with his.

"My first time in a pool," he smiled, his eyes sparkling when he looked up at her, and she couldn't recall ever feeling so deeply in love.

* * *

 **Saturday 30** **th** **July**

"It's small," Charles grumbled as he carried their bags in from the car, having to bend as he went through the front door. "Where's the style? Where's the luxury?"

Elsie followed him in, expecting the worse, "Oh, I don't know," she put her handbag on the table by the door. "It's cute, I like it."

He brushed his hand over the small, round dining table, checking for dust.

"It's nice," Elsie called back through the rooms, "little kitchen area, bathroom, bedroom – ooh nice view from the bed."

"It's a grand four-poster?" He asked, following the sound of her voice.

"Hardly," she smiled at him, kneeling on the bed, "but it's a double and it's sleepable…if you want to sleep."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Don't be grumpy, really, it's lovely, quaint and lovely. Just look at the view through those doors."

"I guess you're right," he said, casting a glance down the valley.

"I often am."

His eyebrow rose again which caused her to laugh.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing," she moved to him, resting her hands on his shoulders and stepping up to her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "Just life, Charlie dear, just life."

He sank onto the edge of the bed, watching as she made her way barefoot back through the tiny house, or cottage, he wasn't quite sure what to label it as.

Elsie pulled her suitcase through to the bedroom, sighing as she positioned it in the corner of the room. "You think it'd be really out-of-line to live out of this for the week and not unpack again?"

The look on his face told her that would be very much unacceptable.

"I'll unpack now, get it over with, then do you want to go out somewhere? Explore the village?"

"Yes, despite that mile walk down the hill to it in this heat."

She leaned over where he'd collapsed back on the bed, "Sweetheart, you're on holiday."

"Come here," he yanked her down on top of him, "let's just cuddle for a moment," he said, kissing her head.

She was content with that, and settled against him.

"You think we'll be okay, in this little place together for a week?" He asked, gazing out of the window to the spectacular view – he had to concede that, it was spectacular.

"Of course, we managed in the hotel room at Valentine's."

"That was two nights, wasn't it?" He pointed out.

"I guess so. Does it make a difference?" She suddenly laughed, rolling onto her tummy to look at him. "Being in a smaller place? We just spent a week together in the other place."

"Yes, but that was different. I was out working most of the day. And there was plenty of space for us to have some privacy if we needed it."

"Sweetheart, you're so unbelievably clueless and yet wonderfully astute at times it baffles me."

"I like it when you call me sweetheart."

She bit down on her lip, "If I get in your way just tell me. Be honest."

"I can't imagine you getting in my way."

"You might, as hard as it is to believe, but you just might get aggravated by me. Just as I might by you. You can be insanely tidy."

"I'm just organised."

Her eyes widened, "Don't I know it."

"Hey."

"Just an observation, I mean I'm not untidy but you, you're…"

"Anal. This is why I had such problems sharing a house at University."

"Good job we're only sharing a room then, not a house." She caught something in his face that made her stop and, momentarily, feel anxious at her own words. Her heart reminded her of its position in her chest by pulling tight and she pushed herself up from the bed quickly.

"Let's go out, make the most of the day. It's a little cooler today I think, there's a breeze. Let's wander around the market. I like markets."

"Me too."

He watched as she tied up her hair, slipped off the dress she'd been wearing and put shorts on instead.

"Are you getting up?"

"I am. I'm ready, just need to put comfier shoes on for the walk."

* * *

They'd done markets before, back home in York he'd learned quite early on she liked to meander around them; hunt for bargains, unique things, locally crafted items.

He, on the other hand, was quite happy to stand back and watch her. Shopping wasn't really his thing, though he could appreciate the time and effort put into crafting and he did enjoy how she found the best food stalls. So far they'd munched their way through little pots of mussels, different cheeses, freshly baked bread, olives – but he'd gotten quite the taste for Turrón. It stuck to his teeth and reminded him of being a child and his Gran making nougat from scratch for him; that rich, almost sickly sweet smell filling the house.

Elsie was standing between two gentlemen at a jewellery stall as Charles stood back munching on a little bit more of the sweet, picking out another piece from the paper bag and watching her scan the items on display. He saw one of the men lift their hand, just catching Elsie's back, a little too close for comfort for his liking. She lifted her head, glared at the man over her glasses; he was older than the pair of them and should've known better. He took a slight step to the left. She was fine, she could handle herself.

When the second man deliberately knocked his hip against hers, sending her sideways into the older man, Charles stepped in. His imposing figure behind her within a second, his hand on her side, fixing the men with a stern gaze.

"Okay darling?" He asked loudly, and she looked back at him, glad of his physical presence.

"Yes, I rather like this ring here." She said, in an attempt to keep the tone light. "What do you think?"

Charles watched the older man move away, along the side of the stall and then disappearing into the crowds of shoppers. He squeezed her hip, checked to the other side of her and the younger man had gone too.

"Are you really okay?" He said by her ear, and he felt her exhale as much as he heard it.

"Yes, I think so. I'm not sure if that was some sort of sexual thing or if they were trying to steal my purse."

"Me neither. But if he'd touched you I would've broken his arm."

She smiled, "Oh, my hero."

"Well, not quite, I think you had it covered. But still, I'm not having anyone intimidate you. Bastard."

This was very unlike him, to swear, to appear in any way 'masculine'. She lifted her head and kissed his cheek, "I'm fine. You were here, and I'm very glad you're so tall and imposing."

He felt his ire drop a little.

"Protection officer at your service ma'am. Now, which ring do you like?"

"It doesn't matter, it's rather expensive I think."

"So, show me."

"It's silver, here, see."

"Does it fit?"

"I haven't tried it."

"Well, do so. Here," he took her bags from her, "Let me hold these."

"It's expensive," she said turning to face him but trying the ring anyhow, slipping it onto the middle finger of her right hand. "Oh and now I like it."

"It fits perfectly."

"It does," she waggled her finger about to check. "It's nice, and the woman running the stall assures me she makes them all."

"Buy it."

"It costs more than the dress I bought the other day."

"You mean the flashy red one I'm not allowed to see you in?"

"It was an impulse buy that I regret." She took the ring off, popping it back into its box. "Because I will never wear something that screams 'look at me.'"

"Let me get the ring," he pushed the bags back into her hands.

"No, that's not –,"

"I want to," he was already taking out his wallet, counting out notes. "Consider it a memento of our trip."

"Charles, this wasn't what I meant. You don't have to buy me things."

"I haven't bought you anything, I want to get this."

"You bought me flowers, several times."

He frowned, "That hardly counts."

"It does to me."

She watched helplessly as he handed the money across and the lady wrapped the box in tissue paper and handed it across in a tiny paper bag.

"There, done. Now you have something nice to remember the trip by."

"Yes, I guess."

He took the shopping bags back from her and hooked his free arm through hers. "You want to go have a drink somewhere?"

"We can. I think I'm done here now though."

"Are you annoyed with me?"

"No, why?"

"Your tone's changed. Are you aggravated I did that?"

"I just… it was a very sweet thing to do." She paused momentarily, let a group of people pass them and then moved in front of Charles, his arm still holding hers as she led them out of the row of market stalls and back into the main street.

"But?"

"But, I'm not used to men buying me gifts. Not like that. I wasn't pressing for you to do that; I don't want you to think that."

"I don't think that. I never would."

She looked up at his stricken face, "I'm sorry."

"No, I am. Clearly I've done something wrong, upset you."

"No I have. And I feel terrible now. Charles, I'm very grateful, I love it. I'm just… You see I often feel like if somebody gives me something then I have to give them something in return, see?"

"You don't owe me anything."

"I know that, because you're you and you're kind and wonderful. You're _very_ kind."

"I sense there's a huge 'but' coming that will knock me down a peg or two."

"There isn't," she squeezed his arm, breathless as they set off up the hill back to their little house. "And I wouldn't want to knock you down. I just wanted you to understand why my reaction was less than overwhelming. And I feel a real selfish bitch for doing that now."

"I need to stop," he pulled his arm free from hers.

"From the conversation?"

"No just, ohh," he breathed deeply, closed his eyes as he leant against the wall.

"Charles, are you okay?" She rested her hand over his, one hand on his arm.

"Just lost my breath, went a bit dizzy is all."

"Do you want some water?"

"Be alright in a second. This hill you know."

"And me prattling on. I'm sorry."

He waved his hand, "Don't be. Shouldn't have done it, stepped in, took over."

"No you should have, oh god." She kissed his cheek, moved closer to him, "Sit down here for a moment. Catch your breath."

"Yeah. Forget I'm an old man, you make me feel young."

"My…" she rested her hands on his shoulders, closed her eyes momentarily and then he was looking up at her and she kissed him again. "I do love you. And I'm sorry for my reaction. I never said thank you. And I am thankful, very, it's beautiful and I love it too. And you're right, it will be a lovely memory."

"You don't owe me anything, I told you that. This isn't some power game, we don't have to try and outdo each other."

"I know. I try to…" she drew in a tight breath between her teeth. "I try to remind myself of that. You're different you see, to other men I've been with, and I forget that at times. I forget that where I've been before and how I've been treated before doesn't mean it will be the same with you."

Charles nodded, his cheeks flushed but his breathing having settled once again.

"You feel any better?"

"Much."

"Think you can manage the rest? Go lie down when we get back, I'll get you a cool drink."

"If I lie down I'll sleep."

"I don't mind that; I can read for the rest of the afternoon. You've had a busy time. I've just been lounging around for the week."

"Wouldn't be much of a challenge to the old guy at the stall now."

"A challenge to any man," she assured him, kissing his forehead and smiling. Yet as he rose, on slightly wobbly legs, she felt the queerest surge of concern. She was reminded he was older than her, and he had worked non-stop for the past five weeks and anything could happen at any time.

As she watched him walk ahead of her, his broad shoulders slumped, heavy with fatigue, she felt a lump in her throat – she actually couldn't imagine him not being around.

* * *

 **Tuesday 2** **nd** **August**

They set out relatively early Tuesday morning, after a few days of being lazy – enjoying the weather, reading, swimming, lying about and talking (wonderful, endless talking) – they were determined to make the most of Tuesday. It was a little cooler, still glorious but cool enough that they could walk without fear of collapse.

Elsie had made sandwiches that morning, they'd packed a picnic of sorts, their towels, sun cream and loose change, and set off using an old map Charles had found in one of the desk drawers in the lounge.

It was a good three hours before they found a place to settle to eat and relax. They'd walked the cliff edge, Charles guiding, Elsie happy to follow and sit back on the grass whenever he 'found the map out of date' i.e. 'got lost'. They passed an isolated café just after eleven and used the restrooms, refilled their water and bought iced lemonade to enjoy underneath an umbrella outside before setting off again.

"Careful," Charles said as Elsie navigated the steps in front of him. Hundreds and hundreds of steps. "You want me to go in front?"

"So I fall on you?" She snorted. "I'm fine Charles."

"Not great footwear for climbing," he said, noting the flip flops.

"Thank you for pointing that out. Now, stop talking, you're distracting me."

"Okay, okay," he paused, took a deep, steadying breath as he gazed out at the breath taking view. The sweat was pouring down his back and he couldn't wait to peel his t-shirt off and get into the water. From their current position it looked like paradise; endless calm azure.

"Oh!" Elsie gasped and he glanced down quickly, "Ow," she added, rubbing her arm.

"What happened?" He was at least ten steps behind her now and climbed down quickly, shouldering the backpack he'd momentarily allowed to slip. "You hurt yourself?"

"Banged my arm on the wall," she leant against his when he offered it, "and stubbed my toe as I slipped." She rubbed at her foot, "Stupid. I went a bit dizzy, the heat, or the focus on the steps."

"You want to rest?"

"No, I want to reach the bottom. These are going to be a killer on the way back."

"I thought we could maybe walk along the beach, find a different route," he took the water bottle from his bag and handed it to her.

"Don't get me stranded, I don't want to drown."

"As if." He took the water back from her and took a drink himself, "I checked it on the map."

She glanced over the top of her glasses at him.

"Yes, yes, the odd miscalculation," he admitted grudgingly.

"Mmm."

"Now then love," he slid his arm around her shoulders. "We can't all be as perfect as you are."

"I never claimed to be."

"But you are," he tugged her against him, kissed her head, "especially from my position behind you, watching you in those shorts."

She elbowed him, "Old pervert. Perhaps you _should_ go in front."

"You only want to look at my bottom."

"Very true, now, off you go, lead the way."

"Yes sir…madam."

"Sir sounds good," she laughed.

* * *

They weren't exactly surprised to find the small cove was absent of holidaymakers – the climb down had been long and tedious; winding stone steps and unkempt hedges.

They set up their belongings on the rocks, the cliff offering some semblance of shade, stripped down to their swim wear and waded into the water.

"Lord that feels good," Charles said, flopping onto his back, dipping his head back and soaking his hair. He felt the slickness of his body, uncomfortable as it had been, slip away as he floated.

Elsie was still near the shore, standing to her knees in the water, adjusting to the slight temperature change. "Don't go too far out," she called to him.

"It's fine, I'm a good swimmer and its calm. Come on, join me."

"Your legs are stronger than mine," she said, stepping in a little further. "And I feel nervous being the only two here."

"It's fine, we'll be fine." He pushed himself forward, tightening his stomach muscles to assist him, and set his feet on the sand beneath him. His toes sank into the thick, cold dampness of it, and he stood still for a moment, letting his weight settle, judging where the water reached to. Just over his stomach, he was fine. "Look, see." He said, watching as she bent, pushed her arms forward and swam.

"You're taller than me, don't forget."

He walked towards her, the surface beneath his feet altering as he got closer to shore, pebbles between his toes.

"Come here," he held his arms out, caught hold of her hands, then slid up to her upper arms. They moved in sync, Elsie giggling, Charles smiling, as their bodies came together. His hands patted her bottom beneath the water, encouraged her to lift her legs, weightless in the water as she curled them around his body and he supported her.

"This feels familiar. And is much better than working myself," she admitted.

"Pretty nice for me too," he moved his mouth to hers, and they kissed slowly, languidly, because there was no rush, no pressure to go anywhere or do anything. "I love you," he breathed against her mouth as they parted, his eyes still closed.

He felt her forehead rest against his and he smiled, opening his eyes now to see her, brushing his hands across her back, "Do you know how much I love you? How deep this has become?"

"I think so," she whispered in return, kissing him again, "because I feel the same."

"Are you shocked by it?"

She bit on her lip, eyes sparkling, "Yes, I said before – you're a surprise. I never expected to meet anybody, not now, after so many years of superficial whatevers. And even when we started dating, not that many months ago, I never even considered for a second that it would turn into this. And then suddenly…"

She leant back in his arms, lifting her legs, pushing her feet through the water, trailing her fingers upon its surface.

"Suddenly?" He jiggled her a little, which was a mistake really, given their position and her proximity to her penis. "Elsie?"

"You were in my heart," she said gently, holding his gaze, "and burrowing deeper every day."

He lifted her up, his strong arms supporting her, hands wide on her shoulder blades as he brought her body back to his and kissed her again.

"I feel braver now," she said, "now I'm used to the temperature."

"You want to try swimming around the edge, towards that rock there, we can hunt for things."

She pulled a face, "Hunt?"

"Shells and the like, keepsakes from our trip."

"Free keepsakes," she laughed, "you're such a man at times."

"I would hope I'm always a man, or male," he let go of her as she swam out of his arms. "Swim next to me."

"Yes," she did just that, grateful for him slowing his stroke to allow her to keep up. "I'll test the depth when we get closer."

The water was deeper by the rocks and so Charles lifted Elsie up, let her lean against his shoulders as she clambered up and he followed, finding a foothold and climbing up behind her.

"This is where we need flip flops," he commented.

"See, I know shoes, and they're all weather terrain. That one's nice," she pointed out a shell floating in a puddle of water.

"Ooh yes, good choice," he collected it, dropping it into the pocket of his shorts. "This is a Tulip –,"

"You know different shell types?"

"Of course."

"A shell is a shell."

"Read a book on it, some years back, I remember a few."

"You've a brain like a sponge, a memory like one."

"Yeah, well, I had a lot of time to kill. Travelling and the like, planes, trains."

"And Automobiles."

"What?"

"It's a film, never mind," she touched his arm, brown and glistening with droplets of water. "You look very handsome today, Mr. Carson, do you know that?"

"Not an Englishman on holiday?"

She chuckled, "Yes, that too. There's another."

"Don't slip on the seaweed."

"Here you go, pop it in your pocket. What type's that?"

"Erm, that's a Tellin I believe."

"I like the colours."

"Will you save them?" He watched as she walked on tiptoes across a sharp section of rock.

"I'm the one saving them, am I?"

"You could put them in your kitchen, there's a glass bowl you have…"

She glanced over at him, "Your memory!"

"I know. I know. Is it time for lunch?"

"I guess. Our sandwiches will be warm."

"Might be okay, those freezer packs might have held up." He stood on the edge of the rock. "I'll jump then get you."

"Don't lose those shells."

"Oh yes," he zipped up his pocket. "Safe now."

"Do be careful," she bit down on her lip as she watched him position his feet and then jump forward and land with a splash. "Are you alright?"

"Fine, perfectly fine. Come on, you're meant to be the brave one."

"Whatever gave you that idea?"

He shielded his eyes from the sun as he looked up at her, "You did. Bravest person I know. Come on," he held his arms aloft.

"I don't think I can jump."

"Course you can, just state of mind." He waved his hands in the air, "Come on."

Taking a deep breath, she held it as she took a giant leap forward, landing almost on top of Charles. She yelped as he fell backwards, laughing together as he kept his hands firmly on her hips and tripped backwards, searching for his footing.

"Are you alright?" He gasped between laughing and trying to settle them in the water.

"Bloody hell," her hands were pressed tight against his shoulders, legs kicking beneath the water.

"Bloody hell? That's a very English thing to say, where's the Scottish fire?"

"Has my makeup run all over my face?"

"No, you still look perfect."

"Thanks for catching me, I think I'm okay now."

"Good. Kiss?"

"Mmm," she pressed her mouth to his. "Do you think this trip is proving a little too perfect?"

"How can it be too perfect? Do you want to argue, have a bit of a barney?"

She laughed again, "Not necessarily."

"No point to it, people waste too much time on arguments and confrontations. This is perfect, being with you is, let's just enjoy it while we can."

"While we can?"

"We've got to die one day."

"Oh, nice, cheery thought." She kicked away from him, "Come on, swim close, just in case. I don't want to die just yet."

"No. Absolutely not."

* * *

A young family joined them on the beach just a little after lunch. Two young boys and their sister playing in the surf, their father with them, mother swimming close by.

Charles settled back on the sand, his bag serving as a pillow beneath his head. Elsie covered him in sun cream and within minutes he slept. She didn't blame him, they'd walked pretty far in the heat, then swam, and he'd worked so hard for the past month. And like it or not, he wasn't a young man, not old, not quite, but not young neither. She'd dwelt on that a little more than she was comfortable with over the past few days.

It surprised her, how much she cared for him now, that she was concerned for him when he was tired or grouchy. When he'd called her in the evening from his hotel room over the past few weeks and she could hear the fatigue in his voice she left the call feeling anxious for him. So, to see him relax now was comforting, in some way, and she certainly didn't begrudge him an afternoon nap.

She settled back with her book, sitting at first and then, when her back complained, she moved, turned sideways and leant her head back against Charles' stomach. His hand instinctively came up to rest on her side.

"What?" He mumbled, eyes still closed, jerked from sleep.

"Nothing sweetheart, just getting comfy, go back to sleep."

"Don't burn," he slurred, and she wondered which one of them he meant.

* * *

 **Thursday 4** **th** **August**

Charles paced the small lounge area, fiddling with his cuff links and cursing the sunburn on the back of his neck. Ridiculous, he'd been there over a month and he burns his neck on a day out searching for seashells.

"Are you still uncomfortable?" Elsie asked as she came into the room, and any worries Charles had about his neck disappeared, his cufflink slipped from his fingers and clattered upon the terracotta floor and he stared at her. "Goodness me."

"What?" She smiled.

"That dress is…" he swallowed, "I've never seen you in red."

"I told you, I don't usually wear it, I'm not sure it suits my colouring. You think I should change it?"

"It looks… You're stunning."

"Flatterer," she bent to pick his cufflink up from the floor. "Let me help you with this."

He held his arm out, keeping his eyes on her face as she fixed his shirt sleeve for him.

"Stop staring," she whispered.

"Can't help it," he whispered in return. "Are you going out with me tonight?"

"I believe so. There all done." She patted his arms, moved her hands to straighten his collar, "I like this colour on you. Very smart, and the open collar." She felt his arms slide up her back, just gently grazing over her hips, then up the curve of her spine. "Charles…"

"Mmm," he was nudging her hair with his nose, kissing her forehead.

"I've done my makeup."

"It looks wonderful," he managed before covering her mouth with his. He felt Elsie's hands slide over his shoulders, the pads of her fingers pressing into him. "Still looks wonderful," he added when their lips parted, "perfect."

"Do be quiet," she kissed him again, drowning in the moment.

* * *

They'd found the restaurant during one of their many walks around the town. The fact they could dine outdoors was alluring and, for their final night there, Elsie had bravely opted for the red dress. The dress that Charles now couldn't keep his eyes off as they walked through the square and the throngs of tourists.

"I'm glad we got a taxi, I couldn't have walked the entire distance in these shoes." Elsie said, her heels clattering on the stones.

"Do you know; I feel a little melancholy."

"Because it's our last night?"

"Yes, it's gone too quickly. I like being outside of reality."

"Don't we all. No point worrying about it, let's just get drunk and dance the night away."

"Er, nobody said anything about dancing."

"We're eating at an outdoor restaurant in a square packed with music and entertainment, and I'm wearing the red dress, so we're dancing!"

"Outside though. People will see me."

Elsie laughed, "Nobody knows you. Time to loosen up Mr. Carson."

"Oh I think you've done plenty of 'loosening' already." He caught hold of her hand, "Somebody to blame for that."

"Mm," she leant into his side, "Let's share Paella, and an expensive bottle of wine."

"And split the bill, I know."

"How very in tune we are. You did ask for a table outside?"

"Of course."

Charles watched as she moved ahead of him and into the entrance, giving their names, her shawl slipping from her shoulders. She was brown and looked healthy and invigorated. He still felt so tired, he couldn't quite work out why. The heat, it was possibly that, maybe his body had had enough of it. And the walking, they'd walked plenty this week. And the work of course, he hadn't committed to such a long term project in years. And the sex, they'd been having lots and lots of that too – not that he at all minded that fact.

"Darling?" Elsie said gently and he looked up to realise she had already gone to their table and he was still standing in the entrance staring at the floor like a fool.

"Sorry, daydreaming," he smiled ruefully and joined her.

"Ooh, let's have the prawns to start," Elsie said before even opening her menu. "Like on our first date."

"Gambas al ajillo," Charles said brightly, his accent perfect.

"Yes, if we both have them then neither of us can complain about the garlic."

"Very true." He lifted his hand, fiddled with his shirt collar, "Do you think we might get some water."

"You're hot?" She looked up at him, slipping off her glasses, concern already creeping in.

"Mm, yes. Wish I'd forgone the jacket," he said as he hung it from the back of his chair.

"I did say."

"I know, I know. You know best."

She ignored the off-hand comment and waved towards the waiter, "Do you think we might get a jug of iced water?"

"Of course, madam."

"Thank you."

Charles sat back in his chair, stretching his legs out, "Thanks. He'll be quicker as you asked. Gave him that smile."

Breathing deeply, Elsie folded her menu, leant forward a little and danced her fingers across the back of his hand, "Now, if you're going to slip into the man-mood zone we might as well go back to our accommodation and just pack."

"No. No, I'm sorry, just sick of feeling so lethargic."

"Well, it'll be cooler in England in about twenty-four hours."

"True." He squeezed her hand, smiling, "Sorry."

The water arrived and Charles took a long drink as Elsie placed their order. He felt somewhat better as he chomped on a piece of ice and turned his attention to events in the square. Some sort of acrobatic thing taking place, three men playing acoustic guitars, a fire-eater – now he liked that, that did entertain him, he even clapped and threw money into the young man's hat as he'd walked the circuit afterward.

After they'd eaten, when the hour was getting late, he'd shifted his chair round next to hers and they'd watched the professionals dance. Elsie had sat forward, engrossed in their movements, clapping her hands in time with the others filling the square.

The atmosphere was tangible, and he felt grateful to be there, grateful to be alive and actually living life rather than watching it pass him by. Charles Carson, always a bystander to the events going on in everyone else's life, an audience member. But perhaps not now.

She gasped in excitement and he turned his attention to her face.

"Oh wasn't she wonderful," she enthused. "The way she moved, the rhythm."

"You can move your hips like that."

She pouted, turning to look at him as she clapped, "I don't think so. I don't have much rhythm."

"Here's your chance to find out," he said, pointing as the dancers moved around the tables getting folks up from their chairs.

"What?"

"Go on, go do it."

She looked up as a hand was held out across their table towards her, "Madam?"

The gentleman in question was shorter than Charles but bulky, with thick black hair and olive skin. His eyes as dark as night.

"To dance?" the young man said, smiling and she felt her hand being held as she got up and out of her chair.

She glanced at a grinning Charles as she passed his chair and was led out to the square with the other amateurs.

When the music started, and the man gripped her body against his, she was overwhelmed by his cologne, and by the way he ground against her. There was nothing soft or gentle in these movements. She gasped as he spun her around, then felt him grab hold of her arms, directing her, whispering instructions about her foot movement.

Everything happened so quickly she didn't really have time to worry about how she looked or the mistakes she was making. She just went with it.

For his part, Charles felt, only momentarily but it was there, that tiniest tinge of jealousy at the sight of her with another man. He reflected that perhaps in the past this kind of handsome, flirtatious chap was the type she would've gone for. Especially on a holiday like this. One night of abandoned passion and then moving on the next day.

He wasn't jealous because of the man or the fear Elsie would do anything with him.

He was jealous of the fact the man could dance with her like that and he couldn't.

As the music reached its natural conclusion she was danced back over to him, spun around until she was dizzy and breathless and with no real idea where she was.

"Now you get your husband up, yes?"

"My what…?" She wobbled slightly as the man let go of her, stuck out her hand and found the table edge.

"Here, you get him to dance."

She turned her head to look at Charles, he shrugged at her, eyes innocent.

"Well, you fancy it… _wife_?"

She smirked, "I feel like a spinning top, about to drop."

"I'll catch you," he got to his feet, took her hand and led her a few steps away from the table edge.

The music was different now, more suited to slow dancing, and the square was full of couples holding onto each other. It felt good to be in his arms, to rest her head against his broad chest. Charles was so tall, so strong, sometimes she forgot that; he was always so gentle with her. Absolute tenderness with her.

"I can sway pretty well," he admitted, kissing her hair.

"I like it," she said, "this is even nicer than dancing like some wild thing with a stranger."

"You looked impressive."

"I have no idea what the hell we did. Or how I didn't fall over."

"The dress though, wow," he teased.

"Oh shut it," she looked up at him, "my feet hurt now."

"Want me to carry you home?"

"The entire way."

"Deal," he tilted his head down and kissed her. "Who said romance was dead?"

"They've clearly never been on holiday with you."

He chuckled, "You've enjoyed it then?"

"I have, you know I have. Every minute of it."

"Me too." He cradled her to him again, enveloping her slight frame in his arms. "Me too."

* * *

Elise's mouth was on his shoulders, kissing, suckling, tasting. Her wonderful, heavenly moans in his ears. He could feel her fingertips dancing over his back, up his neck, palms squeezing his shoulders. She shifted beneath him, one leg hooking around him, her other foot pushing away the sheets that draped over them. He felt the heel of her foot drag up the back of his leg.

She was so warm. Smelled so good, intoxicating, swirling around him, under his skin, through his veins.

There was a thudding in his brain, every pulse point on fire. His skin slick, legs like jelly, stomach swirling.

"Oh god," he groaned, hips stilling.

"Yes," she breathed, kissing his face, hands in his hair. "Don't stop, darling…"

"I need," he shifted his weight on her, felt his arms buckling.

"Are you –?"

"I just need a min…" he groaned again, dragging himself from her body and collapsing at the side of her.

Elsie shifted quickly onto her side, a hand hovering over his back. "Sweetheart?" Her heart was still pounding, there was still this intense heat and desire between her legs that she was doing her best to ignore. Her fingers touched his shoulder blade and he rolled over, flopping onto his back and sucking in a long breath.

"Sorry, just lost my breath."

"It's alright, I don't mind. Do you need anything?"

"No," he ran a hand through his hair, "Christ, embarrassed."

"Don't be. It's me, doesn't matter."

"Course it does, halfway through it and the old man cracks."

"Oh don't be silly," she kissed his mouth and down across chest before settling her head there. "Long as you're okay."

"Just need to rest. Must be the dancing," he suggested, an attempt at humour that fell a little flat.

For a while they were quiet, listening to the breeze outside, lifting the thin curtains that hung in the room, moving over their naked bodies that still lay curled together on top of the bedsheets.

"Back to reality," Charles suddenly said, his hand heavy on her lower back.

"Mm. Unfortunately. Thank you for inviting me, I had the most wonderful time, I told you that earlier didn't I?"

"You did, but I like hearing you say how 'wonderful' it's been."

She smiled, tipping her mouth forward to kiss his chest again.

"Have you heard from your family?" He felt her stiffen a little, shake her head.

"I'll call when I get home, see how he's doing." She sighed heavily, "I may have to go up there."

"I don't mind coming with you."

She laughed, a brittle sound that made her throat hurt.

"What's wrong with that?" Charles asked.

"My father's never met any of my men."

"Your _men_?" He said awkwardly and Elsie pulled back from him, laying on her back beside him.

"You know what I mean."

"Do I…?"

His raised eyebrows made her feel in the slightest judged but she pushed it away, dropped her legs over the side of the bed and got up, stretching her back. "I need the bathroom," she stated, getting to her feet. There was a slickness between her legs that reminded her only fifteen minutes since they'd been in the middle of making love.

Charles lay on his back staring towards the window, watching the rise and flutter of the thin curtain. How still it seemed tonight, oddly, despite the breeze. How quiet.

When she came back he kept his eyes on her face, watched as she scooped her hair up and tied it with a band and then got into bed beside him. On her back, eyes closed.

"Tell me about him," he suddenly said, and her eyes shot open.

"Who? My father?"

"The farmer."

"Oh god," she rolled onto her side away from him, the pale skin of her back a wall going up. "There's nothing to tell, you know it."

"I don't think I do," he moved deliberately behind her, pressing a hand to her hip. "What was his name again?"

"Geoff," she said grudgingly.

"And, do you ever see him? When you visit, I mean."

"Not especially."

"Your father, though, is he still friendly with the man?"

"Of a fashion. Why do you need to know this? Why are you asking now?"

He would've shrugged but it was dark and she wasn't facing him anyhow. "I'm not sure, just seemed the moment to ask."

She huffed and he squeezed her hip, "I'm not being…"

"What? Nosey? Judgemental?"

"None of that. I care. I want to understand."

She felt guilty then for being snappy, she closed her eyes again, felt his hand soft and warm on her skin, his breath on her neck.

"I told you, I thought I was in love. I _was_ in love, the wrong kind perhaps, but I was, deeply."

"Yes."

"You know… oh god, such a cliché, of course it was sex for him, of course. Flattering to have some young girl showing you attention."

"But he could've walked away, behaved… _better_ , shall we say."

"Perhaps. Maybe, I don't know. It's a mess. Always was. You know, one night… We used to have these parties, Christmas time, Dad liked to show off a bit I guess, so he'd invite the neighbours and we'd have a table piled high with food and there'd be drink and music. It was always fun and sometimes there was too much alcohol consumed and people would end up sleeping in the spare rooms or sprawled on the sofas."

"Yes," he said it so softly it was barely a word.

"My room was in the attic; Dad had converted it for me years since so I had this larger space. It was nice, it was almost private."

"You said before he adored you."

"Did I?"

"I think so. Clearly he did."

She was silent again then and he wished he hadn't spoken. But he waited patiently, his hand sliding forward to her stomach, drawing her body back against his.

"I woke in the early hours because he was kneeling on my bed."

"The farmer?"

"Mm, we'd been seeing each other for months by then and he'd crept up to my room whilst the others were passed out. Told me to be quiet, and then we were naked and having sex in my bed, with my family downstairs. And do you know what's the most awful thing about it? It was so exciting, so thrilling. Nothing ever like it. I never thought of the consequences, of the people I was hurting by doing it. So selfish. So deluded."

"You were still too young, I think."

"Maybe."

"Do you not, do you not ever think this man was…"

"What?"

"Well certainly he made questionable moral choices but somehow, was there something else? I don't know, I don't know what I'm suggesting."

Elsie shifted from the edge of the bed and Charles moved backwards as she lay on her back beside him. He could see her face better now, realised it was shining with tears and he felt so very protective of her.

"Sorry I brought this up."

"No, I understand why you did, why you want to know. I get it." She suddenly gasped as her throat tightened and tears rushed down her face. "I still feel so guilty, you know."

He reached to hold her and she turned into him, his arms trying to gather her, hold her as she wept.

"I feel like I carry this around, this weight, always here," she touched her chest. "And I miss him so much, all these years."

"Your father?"

She nodded, "He hates me. Hardly speaks to me, it's like I don't exist and I loved him so much, I do. And I can't ever get that back."

"That might not be true," he brushed her hair back from her face.

"It's been years. Too many years. I've lived more of my life alone than with a family." She was calmer now, snuffling, but calmer. "I let him down, disgraced him. He was so ashamed and then I left and the rest…" she shrugged.

"If you'd stayed, you think things would've been different?"

"I don't know, I'm not sure if I made it worse by going. Maybe he felt abandoned, I certainly did."

"I'm sorry."

"You didn't do it."

"No, but I'm sorry for you, I'm sorry you're still so affected by it."

"It's just hard, seeing him is hard. And Becky too, she doesn't know me so it always takes a couple of days for her to loosen up, to be comfortable around me. And then she's fine and we're fine and it's so wonderful to be with her again, to feel her joy at having me there. And then I leave and she's in floods of tears. It would be awkward, you see, having you there too. For her. For my father. And – well, I'm not sure I'm quite ready to let you see it, let you into all that mess."

"You don't have to hide anything from me. My love isn't dependent on just 'the good bits of Elsie.' I want the complete person."

"I know that," she slid her hand up his arm, "This is by no means a reflection on you. This is me. All me."

He nodded, "Well, the offer is there. You know I'll come with you."

"Thank you. I do appreciate knowing it."

He kissed her forehead, drew her body back against his. "It's very late."

"Mm, are you feeling better?"

"Yes, my pulse had slowed for one thing."

"Good, I'm sorry for becoming faintly hysterical."

He smiled, "No, you weren't."

He kissed her head and no more was said, each lost in their own reflections.

How odd life could be, how painful, how sharp. And then there was this – stillness, gentle. A heartbeat soothing you to sleep. Hands on bodies. Fingertips ghosting over silky skin.

* * *

 **Friday 5** **th** **August**

Morning came late. And there was sunlight on the bed and glassy rainbow patterns on the white walls. Quiet and soft it crept in and the couple in the bed awoke lazily.

There was endless kissing too. Streams of it, ribbons of affection tying them together. No other way to show it but through kissing, and holding the other.

It was Charles who groaned first, pulling back slightly from it, stroking his hand through her hair, loose now, hanging from the band she'd scooped it up with.

"I don't want to go," he said.

Elsie blinked, wiped her eyes before settling her head next to his on the pillow, facing each other. "What time do we need to be at the airport?"

"Around two I think. We've got plenty of time."

"My car's parked at the other end, I can drive us home."

He allowed himself a satisfied smile, "Home?"

"I keep saying that, don't I."

"You do. It'll be useful, dropping me off."

"Oh, you're going to your place," she said quickly, without thinking.

"I've been away a long time, plants to water."

"Of course, I know, I…" she shook her head, felt slightly foolish about herself. "You can just say you need some space now, that's fine, we have been together every second over the past week."

"That wasn't at all what I meant."

She bit her lip, slid her hand over his side, "It'll be odd, going to bed without you."

"I know. I feel that too."

"You do?"

"Of course, I'm not heartless."

"Far from it," she kissed him again, nudged her knee between his legs.

"Drop me off to water my plants, empty my suitcase and check my mail. Then I'll come over later, I can pick something up for dinner."

"You're sure?"

"Unless I'll be in the way. I can imagine you'll get in and revert back to work mode after two weeks away."

"I might," she smiled, "but I'll stop when you turn up with food."

"See, I have my uses."

"Lots of them. You feel okay this morning?"

"Very much refreshed."

"Good. I must admit, I feel slightly silly. Embarrassed about last night."

"Because of what you told me? You mustn't feel that. I told you last night, I thought I made it clear, this is a warts and all type of relationship. Always will be."

"Always?" her voice wavered slightly, "Is this a 'future' thing again?"

"You really don't like that do you?" He smiled, "What's wrong with just thinking it? I know I want to spend the rest of my life exploring this with you. Learning about who we are together. I can't envision for a moment not wanting that."

"It's a long time, who knows what will happen, how we'll behave, what might change."

"You don't feel the same then?"

She knew he didn't believe that, he was teasing, playing Devil's Advocate. "You know I do," she said gently. A tenderness to her voice she was unaccustomed to. "I'm just saying, we don't know what might happen in the next few years."

He gathered her in his arms, "Well, you aren't moving to Scotland, I know that."

"Oh?"

"I'm not letting you go, not without me, anyhow."

"Charles."

"It's not up for discussion." His voice altered and his tone became more serious. "I've meant every word this week, Elsie, this is not some holiday fuelled confession that'll change when the sun's gone in. I'm in this now, with you, whatever happens." He glanced down at her, frowning, "Are you crying?"

"No," she hastily wiped at her face, smiling through her tears.

"I've upset you?"

"Far from it." She snuffled, admonishing herself. "I just, you see I've always been alone. Always. I'm used to it. Whatever happens I rely on me. I know I've got good friends, Izzy and Beryl are wonderful, but they have their own families, their own lives. When all is said and done I've always been alone. And I've found ways to deal with that."

"You're not alone now."

"No, and hearing you say that, knowing I have someone who's on my side…"

Surprisingly Charles felt his own eyes fill with moisture, "Your side is the best side, that's why." He said flippantly, slightly uncomfortable with his own outpouring of emotion.

"I'm not sure about that, most of the time I can be so difficult and everything can be so complicated."

"Perhaps. But we'll make it work. No leaving me, no moving to Scotland."

"I don't know how I'm going to deal with that when the time comes."

"Don't worry about it now," he kissed her forehead, tilted his head down and their mouths found each other. "I love you so very much, Elsie."

"I know; I can't believe…" she shook her head.

"What?"

"It's sad to say how happy I am; how happy you've made me."

"I feel the same. Nothing sad about it."

She pressed herself against him, "I love you too."

The earlier kissing, born of gentle affection and sweet tenderness, progressed now to something deeper. His hand drawing her leg up over his hip, readjusting themselves, finding the right position until she gasped and he shuddered as their bodies joined.

The sunlight dancing across their skin as they moved. Slowly, deeply. Whispered words, breathless confessions. The building pressure between them, the absolute pleasure they could give the other.

Many months ago she'd wondered where this would go; she'd always been such a physical person, a sexual person, and that was fine, she'd accepted that particular personality trait a long time ago. But she'd wondered, with him, it was so different – he was – to the others she'd been with. She'd wondered how their sex life would go, predictable, safe. And now there was this wondrous union between them that was more to do with their love than the mechanics of sex.

Hearing him speak of his love for her whilst actually making love was a sensation she never expected to revel in. Yet here she was, overwhelmed by it.

His mouth was on her neck when she heard the door to the cottage open. And she'd grasped tightly at his shoulder and he'd moaned something as he thrust inside her again.

"Charles, Charles."

"Yes, I know, I can feel…"

" –There's someone in the house."

He jerked back from her, disorientated, yanked from his pleasure so abruptly. But her eyes were wide, face pale, and he almost fell backwards out of the bed.

"Stay there," he'd instructed, voice clouded with emotion.

She'd snatched the bedsheets up to her body, and nervously watched him stumble naked down the hall. Ears strained she heard patches of speech, his voice, a warning and then a woman screaming and a slammed door.

Falling onto her back she giggled, knees bent, arms above her head as she laughed.

"Well, that was bloody embarrassing," he said as he re-entered the bedroom. "It's not funny, I don't know why you're giggling."

"I'm sorry."

"Maid, come to clean thought we'd have left."

"Oh dear, get quite a shock did she?"

"If it's not bad enough I'm naked, there I am with this… probably thought I was going to attack her."

She glanced down his body, between his legs as he crept back into bed.

"Bloody hell," he said again.

"Oh sweetheart," she crawled over, kissing him, "it'll recover, won't it." Her hand wandered down over his belly.

"I might not, in the middle of… and her husband will probably be turning up in a minute to thump me."

"I won't let him."

"Right in the middle…" he said again, exasperated.

"I know; I was so very close."

"I could tell that, and that doesn't help at this precise moment Elsie."

"Okay," she smirked, "Sorry."

"Scaring the maid! What about my reputation?"

Elsie laughed so hard she fell onto her back, her stomach shaking with the effort of her giggles. Just when she thought it had subsided it started up again, laughter that shook her entire body and left her feeling exhausted.

"It's not so funny."

"I know," she gasped, "I'm sorry I just…" she burst into a fit of giggles again and this time he joined her because there was something oddly intoxicating about Elsie Hughes laughing uncontrollably.

As they laughed together he felt free, calm, and so suffused with joy it was immeasurable. Whatever the future had in store, she was his home now.

* * *

 _Sorry for the delay with this. Basically I've got about 4 writing projects going on at the moment and I do this for free so unfortunately it's been pushed down my list. I will try to update as and when I can but I've tried to at least leave this in a nice place for if I don't get to all the ideas I had for them._

 _Thanks for all the reviews and support with it. x_


	22. Chapter 22

_Re-reading this it sort of felt like 'a week with Charles & Elsie and their beds!' :-)_

* * *

 **Chapter 22**

 **Friday 12** **th** **August**

Charles was just contemplating getting up and making himself a Horlicks before bed when his intercom went. It was 23:47 and he had two thoughts: one, it was Robert and he'd had an argument with Cora and come to spend the night in Charles' spare room (that had happened twice before in the years he'd known them) and two; it was Elsie.

His latter thought, thankfully, was correct.

He'd pressed the intercom, his voice weary, one hand tucked into the pocket of his dressing gown.

"Yes?"

"Hi sexy man, can I come up and play?"

She was drunk, that much was clear. He unlocked his door and made his way out into the hallway to wait for the elevator.

"Hello," she'd grinned when the doors opened, "you're all cuddly and ready for bed."

"You, my dear, are drunk."

She smiled, wobbling towards him on sparkly heels, "Just a smidgen. We had cocktails," she hiccupped, "Beryl made us, to celebrate my being home."

"Ah, I see."

"Can I stay with you?" she asked, adopting a childlike tone and fiddling with the tie on his robe, "I don't want to sleep alone in my big bed."

"You know you're more than welcome to stay."

"Thank you. I love sleepovers," she tripped past him and into his hallway, "I need to take my shoes off."

He locked the door behind them, watching as she leant one hand against his white wall and struggled to slip off the shoe. With one off she hobbled, unbalanced, into the kitchen, "Can I have a drink?" She called to him.

Shaking his head he followed her, "What type of drink?"

"What you having?"

"I was just about to make a Horlicks but under the circumstances I fear that would make you sick."

"Can I have coffee?"

"You could have tea, something soothing perhaps."

"Ooh yes, soothe me." She clapped her hands together. "I need some soothing."

"Perhaps you should take the other shoe off, so it's easier to walk?"

"Oh yes, silly." She leaned against his table as she flicked it off. "We had breakfast here after the first time you screwed me."

"Elsie! Don't say such a thing."

"Shagged? That's what British people say, don't they? Not fucked."

"I'm ignoring you."

"I can see that. Don't make me Earl Grey." She pulled a face, moving behind him to hug him, sliding her arms around his great bulk. "Take me to bed Mr Carson, make me come over and over and over again."

He felt his cheeks blush at the suggestion but turned to her with a stern expression, "You'll be asleep within three minutes of laying your head down."

"I will not."

"You will too."

"I'm not very drunk, just an itsy bitsy bit drunk. I had cocktails."

"You said."

"Can I have a bath?"

"Not now, I don't think."

"I need to take my make-up off."

"Well, you left some of that stuff in the cabinet in there, and your little bag of cotton pads."

"Will you do it?"

"Take your make-up off?"

"Yes."

He sighed, "Let me make the tea first."

He turned back to the counter and she hugged him from behind again, her head resting against his back, "I _really_ love you, you know. You're so nice to me. You're very kind to me."

"A-ha."

"Like a nice teddy bear."

"Mmm."

"A nice big teddy bear who is kind to me and has a really big d –,"

"ELSIE!"

She laughed, "Am I being bad?"

"Yes, go get in bed."

She saluted, "Boss."

"I'll bring in your tea and the wipe things for your face." He turned to face her, "What you doing now?"

"Taking my dress off, see," she threw it onto the table. "Got my new underwear on that I bought for our holiday."

"I recognise it."

"Got it to turn you on, just in case you'd got bored with me whilst we were apart."

"Yes, that clearly happened," he quipped.

"The bra pinches my shoulder a bit though," she fiddled with it, "bras are a hazard, you know, never fit right. Doesn't matter how much you pay."

"I wouldn't know. All I can tell you is it looks good."

She hiccupped again and giggled, "You still find me attractive?"

"Unbelievably so."

"I always want you to."

"I'll try my best."

"I want some chips with gravy on."

"That's alcohol talking, go get in bed."

"Come on then."

"I'll be right there, gotta turn off the TV, tidy round."

"Gotta do this, gotta do that, prattle, prattle."

"Childish."

"I want to make love," she wandered back to the hall, one shoe in her hand.

"No you don't, you need to sleep." He picked her dress up from where it was screwed on the table and shook it out, "I'll hang this, shall I?" he said to himself.

"Where's the bed gone?"

"End of the hallway."

"So long since he's had me here." She teased, laughing to herself. He could hear her singing as she made her way down the hall and into the bedroom, falling onto the bed and laying in the same position until he came in.

"Get under the covers."

"I'm tired." She mumbled into the pillow.

"You're drunk, you must've looked a right group hobbling around singing and the like."

She lifted her head up and clambered beneath the sheets. "I wasn't hobbling; I can walk you know. And I'm not so very drunk as before, when I was sick."

"I know."

"Just a teeny bit," she flopped back on the pillows on his side of the bed. "Just a teeny weeny little tiny bit drunk," she laughed to herself. "You're not teeny weeny, you're a very big boy."

"Elsie," he warned, turning off the lights and getting into bed with her.

"I know," she cuddled against him to start with, placing her head on his chest then changing her mind and flopping onto her back, her head on his belly as she looked up at him. "Hello." She said.

"Hi darling."

"Are you embarrassed? Despairing of me?"

"Never."

"I really love you."

"You said that."

"No but I do, not pretend love, not shagging love."

"Els…"

"Cuddle me, won't you?"

"Anytime."

She twisted onto her side, her face still on his belly, her arms wrapped around his torso as far she could in the awkward positon. "Can I stay over?"

"You are doing."

"I don't want to sleep alone."

"You aren't."

"I don't like it. I haven't liked it this week," she yawned, eyes closed. "Being without you is crap, crappity crap bloody crap."

"That's some statement."

"I like you in my bed to snuggle against."

"I like that too."

"Waking up with you."

"Mmm."

"Having you between my legs."

He smiled, stroking her hair, "And that."

"Night, night sweetheart."

"Goodnight darling," he shook his head, whispered to himself as she immediately slept, "three minutes."

* * *

 **Saturday 13** **th** **August**

"Good morning," Charles said as he looked up from his paper, putting his slice of toast down and smiling.

"Morning," Elsie bent to kiss his cheek before moving to the sink and getting herself a glass of water.

"How you feeling?"

"Not too bad actually," she downed the water in one. "Fresh as a daisy. You're eating my jam," she stated, pointing the empty glass towards the jar on the table.

"What was I meant to do with it?"

She shrugged, "I didn't expect you to actually eat it. What's it taste like?"

"You haven't tried it yourself?"

"Nope."

Charles chuckled, "Then why did you make it?"

"Because Beryl gave me a shed load of berries from her garden and I didn't know what else to do with them."

"Well," he folded his paper, "have yourself a seat love and let me make you some toast and you can try it now."

"Is it awful?"

"No, it isn't awful."

She slipped into the seat he'd vacated and dipped his knife into the jam jar, licking a tiny amount from the tip.

"It's tart. I put lemon juice in it."

"I like it like that, not too sweet."

"Must be why you like me," she smiled up at him, tucking one leg beneath her.

"I can see you're still as sassy as last night, drunk or sober."

She laughed, "Tom's always the one to call me 'sassy', I never thought I'd hear the word come from your lips."

"If the shoe fits," he put a cup of tea in front of her. "You're still okay for tonight, aren't you?"

"Of course, got my dress all picked out and my sho–,"

"Oh shit!"

"What?"

Charles sat at the table again, putting a plate of toast between them. "I forgot the thing, the erm, you know, the thing we've got to give them."

Elsie frowned, "The gift?"

"Yes," he said slowly, staring at her, "yes that. I haven't bought a gift."

"It's an anniversary party, right?"

"Yeah, there's an invite…" he got to his feet again, opening the small drawer by the fridge and taking out the invite, handing it to her.

"Good lord, thirty-five years, I haven't known myself that long let alone a husband."

"That's coral."

"What the hell kind of gift do you get for coral?" She put the invite down and started buttering her toast. "And how do you retain such knowledge like that?"

"Big head equals a big brain."

"Clearly."

"Don't forget the jam."

"Oh yes," she spread a thin coating on her toast. "Well, I can go look today, in town. I know you've got the golf thing with Robert."

He sighed, "Yes."

"You aren't looking forward to it? Weather looks good."

"Yeah should be bright, and I _should_ be looking forward to it but I'm a little… You know, I'm still so fatigued."

"From the trip? It's been a week."

"I know, it's ridiculous. I'm sleeping most afternoons."

She put her toast down, reaching over to touch his forehead, "Perhaps you picked up a bug over there, you never know. Did you go to the Doctors?"

"No. And don't moan at me."

"I did say, the other day."

"I know that, and I will."

"Charles," she said lowly, a hint of warning to her voice.

"I'll go Monday."

"You promise? I can come with you."

"I'm not that useless."

"I didn't say you were." She placed her hand over his on the table, "Sweetheart."

He shrugged, "Just hard to accept is all, becoming an old man."

"You're hardly that," she got up from her chair, moving his arm so she could slip onto his knee. "You do know that I would come with you, though, for anything."

"I'm not ill."

"No, but are you hearing me?"

"Yes, yes I hear you. And I do appreciate it."

"Despite your grumpy exterior?"

He circled his arms around her waist but said nothing.

"You're all squishy on the inside," she teased, leaning in to kiss him.

"Mm, do that again."

"Say you're squish–,"

He shut her up by pressing his mouth on hers, savouring the moment; having her there on a Saturday morning, bright and cheery and bringing joy to his day.

"Better now?" She said, her eyes glinting with mischief.

"Much. Thank you. You taste of jam."

"A robust tart jam."

He laughed, tightening his arms around her, "Kinda missed you, you know, in the morning."

"Oh have you? That's interesting to note."

"You've not missed me then?"

"Hmm? Have I missed you?" She tapped her chin thoughtfully.

"Alright. Tease. You said last night you did, you said you _really_ loved me."

"If I recall correctly I also said I didn't just shagging love you."

"Yes, let's not get into that part of the conversation again." He kissed her cheek, "Clearly you weren't that drunk if you remember. Do you want to use the shower?"

"Sure you don't want to go first?"

"Already done, just need to change."

"I like you in your golfing gear," she said, fussing with his hair.

"It's getting long, I know."

"I quite like that too," she stroked her fingers clean through it.

"Too grey these days. Alfie called me Mr Scrooge the other day, which didn't help my mood."

"Oh dear. He had perhaps just seen the film or, I don't know, had the story read to him?"

"That was entirely it, but too accurate by far."

"Please stop this," she sighed, shoulders slumping. "I love you," she placed her hands either side of his face. " _I_ _love you_ , grey hair or not. Alright?"

He smiled, though his eyes were sad, and nodded. "Yes."

"Good. Now, I'm going to shower, are my things still in the cupboard?"

"Yes, yes, that bag you brought over, wash bag. Women's things."

Giggling she squeezed his shoulders, pushing on them to get to her feet. His hands still rested on her hips, holding onto her as long as he could.

* * *

"Do you hate it?" Elsie asked, standing the item in the middle of the table.

"I hate all types of frivolity."

"It's a fruit bowl. How _frivol_ can a fruit bowl be?"

He fiddled with his cufflinks, shrugging.

"Okay, fuck it."

"Excuse me."

"We won't take it. We'll, I don't know, pick up a bottle of expensive Champagne on the way instead."

"It's a Champagne party, we can't take a bottle!"

"Well, you think of something then!"

"Why are you shouting at me?"

"Because you're being a dick."

"I often am."

"Charles!" She stamped her foot in frustration. "Stop it. This isn't fair. I searched for hours for something, traipsing around town. Do you really hate it?"

He sighed, dropping his arms to his side. "I don't hate it in the slightest. I am, as you say, being difficult for no apparent reason."

"Do you still feel ill?"

"The golf was perhaps unnecessary at present."

She stepped close to him, laying her hand on his chest, the crisp white shirt rigid beneath her palm. "We can stay here, I can call, give our apologies."

"They're old friends, we were at school together. I want to go." He circled her body in his arms, "Selfishly, I want them to see me with you."

She smiled, her mouth twisting, "Oh."

"I am very grateful you went shopping. And that you managed to find a coral fruit bowl, it's quite artful, really, how they've shaped it."

"It wasn't cheap."

"Where's my wallet? I'll pay you back."

"We can do that another time. I need to do my hair, put some make-up on. Is there food tonight?"

"Nibbles I should think, trays and trays of nibbles."

"Would you be wonderful and make me some toast then? I'm starving and I'll be blind drunk quite early on if I don't eat something and then nervously knock back Champagne."

"I have crumpets; you fancy those instead?"

"Oh, see, you are wonderful." She pressed a kiss to his mouth.

"Sorry I was snappy."

"Forget it. Right, is my dress in the end wardrobe?"

"I hung it out ready. And erm, you're nervous?"

"Of course, I don't want to show you up."

"How could you?"

"My big mouth, my lack of education, my –,"

He held his hand up, "All rubbish. Brush it out of your mind."

She headed into the bedroom, smiling at the sight of her dress hung out ready, her shoes placed on the floor beside it. It was rather nice, having someone take care of her in such a way.

"Do you want tea?" He shouted down the hallway to her.

"Erm, yes…" she breathed deeply, lifting her voice, "Yes please."

They really were turning into an old couple.

* * *

"Of course, it's always dreadfully sad when someone dies," the young lady proclaimed, with the kind of certainty only youth can carry.

Elsie rubbed her thumb against her glass, listening politely to the conversation taking place, casting her eyes over the people in the group: the young red head with the vacant expressions covered up by enthusiastic tones; her boyfriend, glued to his iPhone standing slightly behind her; the middle-aged husband with his eyes fixed on the young girl's bosom, his wife nodding courteously, sympathetically, at the statement.

"Yes, unfortunately we've all known somebody taken ill and losing their battle with cancer," the older woman said; Maggie, Elsie thought her name was, if she remembered correctly. Maggie and Phil.

"That's bad enough, but imagine it being sudden, like that –," the girl clicked her fingers. "That's pretty horrific."

Suzy. Suzy was the young girl, the redhead, her boyfriend… Elsie bit her lip, narrowed her eyes as she thought. The boyfriend was the son of the couple whose anniversary it was; the reason they were here celebrating. Adam, his name was Adam.

Okay, so she had – Adam and Suzy, Maggie and Phil.

She wondered where Charles had wandered off to, she could do with his comforting arm around her waist at this precise moment.

"Cheery conversation," Phil noted, knocking back his whisky and glancing furtively at Suzy's chest. "Bet you weren't expecting this at an anniversary, ey Elsie. That's your name, isn't it, Elsie?"

"Yes, that's me."

Maggie turned her attention to her, "Tell us something about you, Elsie…?"

"Hughes." She smiled, taking a sip of Champagne.

"Elsie Hughes. What should we know about you?"

"Erm, I don't know, I mean…" she shrugged, "what would you like to know?"

"You're dating Uncle Charlie?" Adam said, suddenly paying attention, putting his phone down. He grinned, "That's an interesting titbit for a start. Never known him bring a woman to anything."

Elsie chuckled, "Oh okay, so I'm some sort of oddity?" She laughed again, "We met at New Year."

"Really?" Phil said. "New Year party?"

"Yes. Robert and Cora's."

"Oh we were there," Maggie enthused, "we always go. Don't remember seeing you."

"It was very busy," Elsie said.

"Very true," Phil agreed.

"We went away," Suzy jumped in, something which Elsie was actually grateful for. "Thailand. It was fabulous."

Elsie had never been particularly shy, in fact she'd always found it fairly easy to mix with others and throw herself into the chatter. But there were times, occasionally, where she wished the ground would just swallow her up. Listening to Suzy wax lyrical about the benefits of a New Year holiday was one such moment.

These were Charles' friends, they were intelligent, successful people. Usually, she'd be fine with that, interested in them and their lives, not afraid to give her opinion when it was called for or challenge a view – in a very gentle way.

But tonight she felt distracted. Not especially by Charles' snappy mood; she'd gotten used to the fact he could be snappy at times, usually without thinking and then regretful after when he realised he'd caused upset. That was okay, they both had that particular trait, she could be just as sharp as he and, quite often, neither of them took great offence. They bit at each other and marched on and all was quickly forgotten as they just got on with the business of life. They'd slotted in next to each other quite easily, slotted in to each other's lives. That surprised her, how simply it had happened after all.

It was him being ill. Or potentially so. That bothered her because it made her consider things she usually wouldn't. Age, their positions, their relationship. If anything happened to them they had no real ties with each other, nothing legal, no family links. Nothing more than this feeling between them, and feelings could be so easily overlooked, so easily dismissed.

She found herself mulling on these things as she moved around the party. Charles was right about the 'nibbly bits', but they were good and she'd consumed a fair amount of them and tried to limit her Champagne intake. She wasn't a big fan of it anyhow, it made her feel sleepy.

When the speeches started she somehow found herself trapped by the fireplace beside a rather large man with the kind of beer belly a pregnant woman would be proud of. She found herself intrigued by the stretch of cotton and straining buttons over his belly, and was paying more attention to that, willing one to suddenly pop off and slam into the head of the lady in front of them, than she was the actual speeches.

People were clapping so she did the same and told herself to tune in more. Part of being in a relationship meant attending events where you felt slightly out of place; listening to the draining conversational skills of people like Suzy; well, she could do that, for him.

For some strange reason she felt something was wrong even before it happened. She'd mull on that later. Like an animal with an extra sense suddenly heightened. Her hands folded together, glancing surreptitiously at her watch – a quarter past eleven. She was tired. She wanted to be climbing into bed and collapsing in Charles' arms, finding her usual spot against his chest and drifting to sleep.

She hid her mouth as she yawned, then joined in the second bout of clapping. People started to move again, the speeches seemingly over, and she sank back against the wall glancing out over people's heads as she scanned the room for him.

And that's when it happened.

Some moment of panic. Something at the other side of the room from her, people bending, fussing. And for some unfathomable reason she knew it was him. That extra sense kicking in and driving her forward as she pushed her way through chatting groups, excusing herself but ultimately not caring.

Charles was on the floor. One leg bent awkwardly beneath the other. His face red, puffy, almost purple, and Robert was loosening his collar.

She almost fell to her knees, Charles' hand was flailing in the air and she caught hold of it.

"Charles," she said, her voice sharp, urgent.

"He just collapsed," she heard Mary say behind her. "We were just talking, and then he just collapsed, he just…"

"Charles," she said again, squeezing his hand. "Sweetheart, it's Elsie, can you look at me?"

His mouth was open, tongue searching to form words.

"Don't speak darling," she soothed, leaning over him, keeping still so he could focus on her face. "You don't have to speak. I'm right here," her free hand touched his cheek – clammy against her palm. "Right here. Just keep looking at me, okay, and we'll get you some help."

She felt someone kneel behind her, a hand to her back, "The ambulance is coming," Cora whispered by her ear.

Charles mumbled, his head jerking forward.

"Shh, keep still," her voice was gentle, warm. "I'm not going anywhere. It'll be fine."

* * *

Hospitals. Just the word conjures illness out of nothing. Perhaps this is why Elsie's head feels like the inside of a fire cracker at present. She's escaped for five minutes, a loo break and a moment of quiet in there. She runs the cold tap and holds her hands beneath it, letting the water run over her wrists, before splashing her face.

She feels something of a fool walking through A&E in her fancy cocktail dress and clattering heels but it can't be helped. She's wearing Charles' dinner jacket too in a bid to keep warm. She purchases two teas from the little coffee shop and heads back to the cubicle he's been assigned.

"Ah, there you are. Says I can go home," he says quickly, sitting forward.

"Who did? When?"

"Five minutes since, let's get going before they change their minds."

"Hang on," she puts their teas down and lets her handbag drop to the floor. "We're not going anywhere until I speak to someone."

"I'm not deluded Elsie."

"No, but you're not in charge at this very moment, I am."

His huff and folded arms make her smile and she softens slightly as she sits beside the bed. "I'll speak to someone and if it's the case we'll go."

"I feel such an idiot."

"There's nothing idiotic about it. You're overly exhausted, you need to rest and calm down, especially."

"I'm not stressed!"

"Your stress levels are rising even now," she patted his leg, "anxiety."

He let out a long breath, "Bloody stupid."

"No, reality. Drink your tea. And then if nobody's come to see us by the time it's gone I'll go seek assistance."

"Christ, my head's hammering."

"You're hardly going to be fixed immediately. Let the medication kick in, drink your tea."

Charles huffed again as he stuck his arm out for his cup.

"You need to sit up a bit more, here," she put her drink down and got to her feet, pushing his pillows up behind him. "There, better?"

"As much as I can be on a pencil thin bed with cardboard pillows."

"You moan more than the old couple in the room next door. What's these pills?"

"Just painkillers."

"You're meant to take them?"

"She said so, I don't know…" he waved his hand dismissing the question.

"Who said? The nurse?"

Charles nodded.

"And so why haven't you taken them… goodness Charles," she handed the tiny cup to him. "Wash them down."

"I don't like to fill my body with too many different types of pills."

"Charles. Just take the damn tablets."

He swallowed the two tablets, "Jeez you're bossy."

"This isn't even half of what I'm capable of."

He flopped back on his pillows, watching as she took his clothes from the chair at the back of the room and refolded his trousers. "I want to be in my pyjamas, this thing is undignified."

She scowled at him, "And striped pyjamas scream dignity?"

For the first time he laughed and she smiled, dipping her chin down to hide her eyes as she folded his shirt – there was something about the feel of the material in her hands, something about the fact it was cold yet still hung onto his fragrance.

"What's that look for?" He asked, his voice low.

"Nothing," she put the shirt down, ran her hand through her hair. "God, I'm tired."

"What time is it? Where's my watch?"

"In my handbag, don't worry." She sat down again, opened her bag and took a look at it. "Oh, after two. No wonder I feel like my eyes are on stilts." She rubbed his arm, "You should sleep. Rest."

"I want to go home," he turned his head on the pillow, "Elsie, get them to send me home."

"I think they may want to monitor you, sweetheart, and to be honest, I'm glad about that."

He huffed again then yawned.

"Look," she got to her feet and turned off the main lights in the room. "Close your eyes, I'll be right here. If we can go then I'll wake you, believe me."

"Bribe them." He yawned again and she leaned over and kissed his forehead.

"I will." She touched his hair, kissed his head, "Love you," she whispered as he quickly fell to sleep.

* * *

 **Tuesday 16** **th** **August**

"How's your back?" Isobel asked as she watched Elsie hobble from the kitchen table to the sink.

"How's it look?" She filled the kettle and flicked it on.

"Like you're suffering."

Elsie turned and leaned back against the counter, "Agony. And I smell like an old woman, covered myself in that stuff, you know..."

"Deep Heat?"

"Yes, that. Feel like I'm having hot flashes."

"If you will sleep in hospital chairs."

Elsie rolled her eyes, "Had little option really."

"I'm sure you had the option to go home and get some sleep and go back to him."

"Well," she turned away from Isobel, took two mugs from the kitchen cupboard. "I couldn't leave him on his own."

"Couldn't you?" Isobel took the lid from the teapot and spooned in the loose leaves.

"I didn't want him to wake up alone. I promised."

"If you say so."

"Don't pull that tone, you would've done the same with Richard."

"Oh I'm not so sure about that, plastic chairs for a night, not for me. Go sit down, I'll do this."

Elsie did as she was instructed, "There's fruit cake in that tin, Beryl sent it."

"You want some? You had some lunch?"

"Not yet."

"I'll make you a sandwich."

"Thank you dear," Elsie grimaced as she bent to sit. "Oh hell, I can't stand this."

"You want to go to a chiropractor."

"Know any?"

"I'll get some names from Richard, find out who's best. You want cheese or ham?"

"Cheese. It scared me, you know," she admitted, watching as Isobel took bread rolls from the cupboard and salad from the fridge. "Seeing him in there."

"Oh?"

"I didn't want to see him like that."

"Nobody wants to see anybody like that. Onion?"

"No. And I know that, I'm not silly. But still," she turned over the newspaper that lay on the table, scanning the headlines. "I was surprised by it."

"By him collapsing?"

"No, I was very practical about that I think, that second self kicked in, all organised and… It was the thought of him ill."

"You've always said that's the test of any relationship."

"And I maintain that it is."

"Here you go. Has he eaten?"

"Still asleep. I'll go check on him when we've done, take him something up. He's managed two-thirds of that cake himself." She chuckled, "Such a sweet tooth."

"Did you tell him how worried you were?"

Elsie shook her head, biting into her sandwich. "He doesn't need to hear that, still recovering."

"And he's staying here?"

"No," Elsie poured the tea. "I asked him to stay. I just wanted to check he's okay. Keep an eye on him." She stirred milk into her tea. "It's…'

"Yes?" Isobel prompted, a knowing smile on her face. "It's what?"

"It's…nice, having him… Forget it, I'm being silly."

"Why ever would you think it's silly? Silly in what way? To be happy?"

Elsie licked her lips, pushed her empty plate away. "It was just nice, when we were away, 'living together' in our little cottage. Sharing every day. It was nice. Unexpectedly so. There, will that do you? And don't get practical, _I'm_ practical. I know it was a holiday. Not reality."

"This is the first time I've ever known you actually want to share your life with someone, in what, twenty years?"

"I know," she covered her face, "I know. I'm embarrassed."

"Why the hell?"

"Because – all my bold statements over the years about being alone."

"Ah, but you didn't know he existed when you said that."

"Very true," she turned her teaspoon over in her saucer. "I love him. Painfully so at times."

"I know you do, it's obvious, blatantly obvious to us all. And the illness?"

"I know he's getting better, he's rested, his blood pressure is almost back to normal. It was just jarring, you know, to see him weak and small in that hospital bed. He's always so…" she puffed out her chest, squared her shoulders. "He's always –,"

"I know. So, you think you can't cope with it then, is that what you're saying? Him getting old, ill, perhaps even losing him at some point?"

Elsie's head shot up, wide-eyed as she stared at her friend, "Oh shit, I feel terrible now. Terrible. With you and Reggie."

"It's fine," she pressed her hand over Elsie's. "Darling you were there for me every single day when Reg died. You, and Beryl, kept me going even when I couldn't see a day ahead. And now I can look back and thank God that I had the time I did with that man, because I loved him dearly. And as much as I miss him, and I do every day, I found a way to go forward. You shouldn't sacrifice today because you're worried about what might happen tomorrow."

"You're incredibly wise, Isobel Crawley."

"And bolshy too, don't forget. You're in love, enjoy it, you've waited long enough for it. Embrace every second of it."

"Elsie," a disembodied voice came from upstairs. "Elsie, I've lost my glasses."

Isobel smiled, "He's lost his glasses," she teased.

"They're here," she said, picking them up from the kitchen table. "They're here!" she shouted back, "I'll bring them up." She clambered to her feet, grimacing as she did so. "Won't be a second, refill the kettle will you, I'll make him a pot of tea."

"Course."

* * *

"Are you gonna read your book?" She asked, noting his book closed on the bedside table. She placed his glasses on top of it. "You wanted your glasses so badly."

Charles reached out and took hold of her hand, "Whatcha doing?"

"I just had some lunch with Isobel, is that why you shouted me up here, because you're bored?"

He smiled, he hoped, endearingly. "Yes."

"I thought you were asleep."

"I was. I woke." He patted the bed beside him, "Come get in and give me a cuddle."

She smiled, "I told you, Isobel is downstairs." She leant over and kissed his forehead, "Silly man. You want something to eat? A sandwich?"

"Can I have cheese?"

"You could have cottage cheese."

"That stuff - I'd rather starve."

"Don't be dramatic. I'll make you ham salad, yes?"

"And tea?"

"And tea. You want the television on?"

"No, I'm alright."

She fussed with the curtains, moving them aside slightly to let in some light.

"Will that antique thing be on? Those two teams buying stuff on the market?"

"Erm, maybe, later." She switched on the television; Charles was already sitting up with the remote in his hand.

"Countdown later. Will you be able to come cuddle and watch that?"

She smiled again, standing by the bedroom door to watch him. "Yes. I will. I'll just fetch you some lunch."

"Thank you, darling."

Isobel watched as Elsie made Charles' sandwich; a thin spread of English mustard, a little mayonnaise, thick ham, salad, then cut into four triangles.

"Lot of care went into that."

"He likes these triangles, you know," she said, arranging them on a plate with a sliced apple. "And I want to make sure he's eating something healthy too. Stop smiling."

"I'm not. I'm smirking."

"Don't do that neither."

"I think you like having him here, I think you like setting up home with him."

"This _is_ my home. You want some more tea?"

"No I've got to get going. I just wanted to check in on you both. I'll call you shall I, or text, when I have the chiropractor's number?"

"Wonderful, thank you."

"Take those painkillers I gave you, do some Pilates." She kissed Elsie's forehead, "Take good care of Mr Carson."

"I am."

"I think everyone knows it. You sure you're not thinking about it, house sharing as well as bed sharing?"

Elsie rolled her eyes, "You can go now."

"Just a suggestion."

"Believe me, it's crossed my mind. I just… I haven't lived with anyone since I left my parents' home."

"Oh my goodness, yes, I'd forgotten that." Isobel laughed, slipping on her jacket.

"It's not funny."

"No, perhaps not dear, but still, time to change it I would suggest."

"What did I say earlier about you being wise?"

"I think it was how wonderful it is that I am," Isobel gently pulled Elsie into a hug, kissing her cheek, "take care darling, see you in a few days."

"Alright, thank you for coming over."

* * *

The first time he could really remember seeing her, _really_ seeing her, was when she came down the stairs at the Grantham's party. Perfectly styled, sophistication oozing, every inch of her aware of her allure as she slid her hand down the banister rail and took the steps slowly. Deliberately slow. So he could watch. She had been as aware of his eyes on her as he had been keenly of her body.

When he's sleeping alone – which isn't often now, granted – he lies awake remembering things like that. He questions whether it was her voice that first drew him in, the intensity of her eyes as she flashed him a look in the meagre light of the porch, or when he saw her that first time, saw her completely.

"What are you thinking about?" She asks as she hobbles out of the bathroom and towards the bed, leaning on the end of it and stretching.

"Just things. How you feeling?"

"Aren't I supposed to ask you that?"

"I'm fine, you look like you're suffering."

"I am," she grimaced as she stood straight again.

"You getting in bed?"

"I don't know, I wondered if I should check in with work."

Charles threw back the quilt, "Come for a cuddle, go to work tomorrow. Rest today."

She rolled her eyes, "They'll think I've quit, either that or they'll riot." But she was already slipping off her blouse and trousers.

As she stood in front of him in just her underwear he couldn't help but chuckle.

"I do hope you're laughing at something on the television."

"No, I was just remembering something. Reflecting."

"On what?"

"You, the first time I saw you at that party coming down the stairs. I never dreamed I'd see you like this."

"Oh, look amusing to you?" She teased.

He smiled, plumping her pillows for her as she made her way towards him. "No. I was thinking how I never thought I'd ever be sharing a bed with you, seeing you in your underwear with your hair all piled up like that, and… that I wouldn't be that lucky. This lucky."

"Oh yes, all aching and walking like I'm 93. You're downright blessed." She groaned as she laid next to him, stretching her feet down into the warmth and rubbing her toes against his. He lifted his arm, let her move in next to him and kissed her head.

"Blessed indeed. You remember that picture, did we ever even see that picture?"

"From New Year's Eve? I don't think I have."

"I haven't. We should chase it up."

"Perhaps it didn't come out right."

"Mm, maybe. This is better, isn't it? " He said, "you're comfy?"

"As I can be. I took some strong painkillers that Izzy gave me, I think they're knocking me out. I feel very drowsy."

"Nothing wrong with an afternoon nap. There's a film on I thought I might watch."

She yawned, "Alright, I'm quite content here."

"So I see," he kissed her again. "Thank you for staying, have I said that? For putting up with the hospital chairs and getting a bad back."

"You're welcome, I wouldn't have left you alone."

He glanced down at her, "I appreciate that."

"I guess you would do the same."

"I would. No question."

She pressed her cheek against his chest, "Is this alright? If I sleep here?"

"Yes, it's lovely. I told you, I feel much better. In fact, I thought maybe I should get out of your hair tomorrow, go home maybe, see how I get on."

Elsie curled her fingers into the bedsheets, felt something drop in her chest. "Okay," she said softly, "but you will call me, if you need anything? And don't go rushing about, don't act like you're totally back to normal."

She felt his chest move beneath her as he laughed, "Yes sir. No rushing about. Promise."

* * *

 **Thursday 18** **th** **August**

When he'd gone the house felt oddly cold, despite the fact they were in the middle of August. Her bed felt larger, the sofa vast. Eating dinner alone seemed such a task where it never had before. She'd done it for years – why should it matter now?

She'd laid in bed in the dark, listening to the seconds tick by on the clock, the odd car passing by, the creaking the house made as it settled after the day.

She'd missed him when he was in Spain, but there were subtle differences with that. Then she'd missed him knowing he was away and she couldn't easily get to him. It was an odd feeling now; he was a twenty-minute drive away, if she really wanted to she could pull on a pair of jeans and a jumper and drive over there and he wouldn't mind, she knew that. She'd crawl into his bed, into his arms, and they'd kiss and fall to sleep together as they did so often now.

They spoke everyday on the phone, more than once usually. She texted, he replied. He'd even emailed pictures from his walk that morning, which she was quite impressed by, though she'd rung and warned him not to overdo it.

Love was a strange thing. At times she felt so enveloped by it, warmed by it, that nothing could possibly touch her. Other times she worried so about his health, their future, silly things like Alice or the fact his friends were so very different to her. His mother, she knew he worried about his mother, and she questioned whether she was interfering or being supportive. Finding your place in a relationship, settling into it, that was hard.

In retrospect falling in love had been easy.

Pushing her chair back from her desk, she dropped her glasses on top of her paperwork and got to her feet, the slightest tinge of pain still evident in her lower back. The shoes she was wearing pinched her toes; new shoes and summer heat were not a good mix. She missed flip-flops and jumping off a rock into the ocean with Charles waiting to catch her.

"Anna, I've got to nip next door," She said as she made her way through to the outer office.

"Alright, you out all afternoon?"

"No, I should be back in an hour, maybe less. Stan's coming over, I want to talk to him about something in the house."

"Your house?"

"Yes. Are you coming to Pilates later?"

"I am, you gonna make it? With your back?"

"Isobel thinks it'll be good so I'll be there." She stopped by the door, holding the handle and scanning the room. "Don't I employ two pretty girls?"

"She's gone to pick up a prescription, taking it as her break."

"Okay. Prescription for what?"

"Charlie, he's home with a fever."

"Poor lad, two ill Charlies."

"I thought you said your Charles was doing better."

'My Charles', she thought to herself. "He is," she bit her lip, "he is. Much better, especially now he's rested and… he'll be fine. I better go, don't want Stan waiting. She's doing better, isn't she, Ethel?"

"Much, quite like having her around actually. Specially with my boss loved up and AWOL."

"Oh bugger off," she laughed as she made her way outside.

* * *

When she happened upon the idea it was with no real thought as to where things might lead or what her actual plans were. One thing at a time, she figured. Get the work done, then figure out the next move.

"You said you wanted a Jacuzzi, I've got plans for the brickwork," Stan said as he followed Elsie upstairs.

"I know, and I'm sorry about that. I may still have one," Elsie said over her shoulder. "I just want to be sure I can afford both, and this is more important."

"What we doing?" He asked, taking his pencil from behind his ear and the tiny notebook from the pocket of his jeans.

"Down here, the small bedroom."

"The office? You made me put that huge window in when you got this place."

"I know, and I love it, it's glorious." She opened the bedroom door, "But I never use this room, if I'm honest. I work downstairs, in the kitchen, or in my real office."

"So, you're turning it back into a bedroom?"

"No, more like, a study."

"Right… And how's that different to an office?"

"Look," Elsie rapped her knuckles against the back wall, "this is just a dividing wall, right?"

"Yeah, between the third bedroom."

"Easy to remove?"

"Bloody hell, this is going to cost me time and sanity."

Elsie smiled, "Come on Stan, you know I'll repay you."

"Yeah, yeah. What's in your head? Hit me with it, don't pretend you haven't been planning this for days."

"Well, only _a_ day, actually. But yes, I have plans. I was thinking what if we opened up this wall, put in some sort of square arch? And then this side of the room, the office, can remain so, I'd move the desk in front of this wonderful window you put in; it has such a great view of the garden and it's kind of nice to look at that when you're working."

"Says the woman who doesn't do that."

"I'm a different kind of worker."

"Yeah right. And the other half?"

"I'm going to make it a place to relax, bookshelves, a great leather chair and a footstool and just, private."

"You want a leather chair?"

"Not for me, no," she smiled, blushing. "For a guest."

"Is this 'guest' a great hulking male with impeccable manners and a deep, gravelly voice?"

"Don't mock me, I feel silly enough about this as it is."

"Never would. He know about this, your fella?"

"Not yet, I thought I might surprise him."

This time Stan smiled, "And does he know he's moving in?"

Elsie pursed her lips together; feeling the blush rise in her cheeks, "Not quite yet, no."

"Plotter. Confident of his agreement though, aren't you?"

She chuckled, "Perhaps. You think you can do it?"

"For you, anything sweetheart, you know that. I could take two of the lads off the renovation if you want, send them over here for a few days. Shouldn't take long to do," he knocked the wall with his elbow, "we might need to put a lintel in, we'll have to see."

"I don't care about paying overtime, I just want it to be impressive."

"Some advice - put him a little drinks trolley next to the leather chair, he's yours, hook, line and sinker."

She laughed, "Alright. I was thinking a fire too, I think he'd like that, I've got this image in my head of some old hunting lodge – that's the style I'm going for. Traditional. Simple but traditional, and cosy."

Stan made notes on the pad, his pencil scribbling with a flourish, "Bloody hell, my wife doesn't go to this trouble."

"She packs you amazing lunches, I've seen. Is this doable then?"

Stan nodded, "You know it is." He waved his pencil at her, "Just for you, mind."

"Oh thank you," she leant in and kissed his cheek. "How long?"

"I'll send the lads tomorrow morning, loverboy going to be here for the next few days?"

"I'll make sure he isn't." She chuckled, "And I think the fact you've nicknamed him 'loverboy' will delight him no end."

* * *

 **Friday 19** **th** **August**

"Anyhow, so I added a bit more red wine, made it a bit better, just about edible, don't you think? Elsie?"

"Mmm, I like it."

"You've not eaten much. You're hardly listening to me."

"I am. You used Quorn instead of mince to make it healthier and you don't think much to it."

"It's the texture. And the lack of taste."

"Try adding one of those beef things, not the stock cubes but similar."

"Those jelly like things advertised on the telly by that prat chef with the curly hair?"

"Exactly. And I think he's sexy."

"You would." Charles pushed his plate aside, "There's fruit salad for dessert, you can have ice cream with yours." He patted his belly, "I have to cut this back, apparently."

"Oh that's silly, you've already lost weight since January," she got up and kissed his cheek. "And I brought something for you."

"What?"

"Fresh figs, I spotted them on the market, I remember you saying how much you like them." She collected their plates together.

He grinned, leaning back in his chair, "I do. Thank you, that's really thoughtful."

She squeezed his shoulder, "I am thoughtful. I'll go wash these. You want to get comfortable? Find a film or something for us to watch?"

"Sure, my sofa isn't as comfy as yours though, and neither is my bed." He turned around on his chair, watching as she carried the dishes across the hall and into the kitchen. "Why are we here, by the way?"

"Sorry?"

"I said, why are we here?" He got to his feet, carrying their partially empty wine glasses with him – it wasn't that he didn't trust Elsie, but better being safe than sorry. "We don't usually spend Friday night at my place. And from the look of that bag you brought with you, you're here for the weekend."

She let the water run into the sink over the dishes, "Oh, and is there something wrong with me staying for the weekend?"

"You know very well there isn't," he moved behind her, sliding his hands around her waist and kissing the side of her neck. "Just wondered."

"Well I just thought it'd be a nice change, not always fair is it, making you stay at mine."

"I like being at yours," he said, repeatedly kissing her neck, pressing against her back. "It's homely and comfy and you're there."

She chuckled, "I am."

Smiling he rested his chin on top of her head, "You know I didn't intend to just live here, in a flat, all my life."

"You didn't?"

"Time kind of ran away with me. I always planned on having a little place, little garden, grow daffodils, you know."

"I do."

"By the time I get around to sorting it out I'll need a bungalow."

She shook the soap suds from her hands and turned around in his arms, brushing her nose against his, "Weren't you meant to be finding a film?"

"You choose, you're better at it."

"Alright," she kissed him, slowly and deeply. He looked so much better, healthier; the ruddy pinked cheeks were back, the sparkle in his eyes, the sharp tongue. "I'm glad you're on the mend, Mr. Carson."

"Worried, were you?"

"Perhaps." She kissed him again, "Don't worry me again."

"Shall try not to. I'll get dessert, you prepare the television? Where are these figs you've brought?"

"Oh yes, still in my bag." She let go of him, "I hope they're good, I wasn't quite sure how to tell if they were."

He took a breath whilst she was out of the room, leaning on the table for a moment and closing his eyes.

"Charles?" She queried as she came back in, caught off guard by his weary stance.

"You don't have to sound so concerned, I'm just tired is all, not dying."

She bit the inside of her mouth, frowning as she placed the bag of figs on the table. "If you're tired tell me, you can say bugger off home."

"There's nothing I want less," he took the paper bag from her hand. "I'll do these."

"Maybe you should go to bed."

"Will you come with me?"

"There'll be none of that business, Mr. Carson."

"It's the only thing keeping me going," he moaned, hiding a smirk. "Day and night."

"Oh shut up. Go and get in bed, I'll tidy up, make us some dessert and bring in a tray and we'll watch a film in bed."

"I'm not an invalid and I –,"

She placed a finger to his lips, "Shut up. You were only 'tired' a week ago, and look how that turned out. Not again, Charles. Go rest."

He was mumbling as he loosened his shirt buttons and made his way down the hallway to his bedroom, but part of him was grateful for her fuss – he was feeling lethargic as the week drew to a close, and she was right, he didn't want to end up in the hospital again.

He stripped down to his boxers, got in bed, plumped their pillows and flipped through his iPad; Elsie had insisted on downloading him some, what she called, 'apps'. She'd put The Guardian on there, which he rather liked, and so after a couple of days he'd had her add The Times and The Telegraph too. She'd added a few games, word games mostly, but he'd got quite addicted – though he'd never admit it.

"Look how you love that thing now," she said, as she came in with a tray.

"I'm just checking on how the world's doing."

"Liar."

"How do you know I'm lying?"

"You think I don't know your tone by now?"

He chuckled and glanced over his glasses at her, "You made a pot of tea?"

"Yes," she sat the tray down on the bed, "Camomile and something or other, found it in your cupboard."

"Like two old sods, sitting in bed drinking that."

"It's calming. We look middle class, tea and figs in bed on a Friday night."

He took one from the plate, "It is where we spend most of our time," he said, before biting into the fruit.

Elsie stopped as she took her top off, pausing with it hanging from her fingertips, "Do you think that's true?" She laughed, "Oh my goodness, I bet it is. We should have counted the hours this year, done that thing where you compare the first year to all the others after."

Charles took another fig, "Isn't that for actual sex? I'm sure as we age we'll spend considerably longer amounts of time in bed. Just not having fun in it."

"What a depressing thought. Don't eat all those before I get one."

"Well hurry up, get in bed."

"I need to take my make-up off. Hang on."

"Did you lock the door?"

"Yes, yes," She flustered past him, back out into the bathroom. "What's going on with your television?"

"Bloody thing keeps rebooting itself." He lifted his voice to reach her in the bathroom. "I have to start again every time, retuning all the bloody channels. I think I might just get a new one, I've had it years."

"Don't," she said abruptly, returning, rubbing night cream into her cheeks.

"Don't?"

"No, I mean, don't rush out and do it yet. Let me look at it first."

"Television expert, are you?"

"Hardly. Budge up."

"That's your side madam."

"You're half on it," she kissed his cheek as she climbed in beside him.

"Don't knock the tea." He held onto the tray.

"We are like an old couple, aren't we?"

"Mm, maybe. But, perhaps, a very good looking one."

She giggled, moving onto her knees to pour their tea.

"Granted, you are holding up that end of the deal a tad more than me."

She mock-gasped, "I never am."

He took his tea cup from her, "We both know you're carrying the sexy flag."

"I think you're very sexy, Mr. Carson." She kissed his cheek again, "It's your eyes, see. Kind eyes."

"That's kindness. Not sexiness."

"Depends on what you find sexy."

"You. In that red dress. Dancing in Spain."

She was smug, "Oh, you remember that, do you?"

"I'll never forget it. Ever. In fact, anytime you want to slip it on and liven up an evening."

"Really, anymore requests?"

"Heels… No underwear."

She slapped his arm and a drop of his tea wobbled over the top of the cup and spilled down his hand. "I blame you for that," she said, as he licked the back of his hand.

"You did ask. Ah, here we go, TV's on."

Elsie sat back, moving the bowl of fruit between them and reaching for the remote. "I'll choose."

* * *

Charles breathed deeply, moving his elbow no more than a centimetre as he tried to shift the annoyance of pins and needles in his arm.

Against him, Elsie slept on, her face pressed against his arm. She'd been asleep within thirty minutes of the film starting and he didn't blame her really; she'd had a week at work with a bad back, he'd had a week on his sofa trying to relax and lower his blood pressure. They were quite the pair.

He hadn't yet told her about Alice's visit, and really, he was contemplating whether to or not.

As soon as that thought passed through his mind he knew it was wrong. In fact ever since that woman had turned up the previous afternoon, laden with flowers and his favourite chocolates, he'd felt guilty. It was something he carried around in his chest, like a slimy little creature turning over in the great cavity there. He'd wanted to call Elsie and tell her right away, but she'd been busy during the day and he hadn't disturbed and then when she'd phoned him in the evening he'd been asleep and was dozy and not really focussing as she chatted to him.

He could have, should have, told her when she got there tonight. But then she looked so lovely and he was so happy to see her, weighed down with her travel bag and there for the weekend. How delicate relationships were, navigating them, and he was so bloody clumsy with most things – ask him to balance a silver tray on his hand and he could do it without a glimmer of a shake (or used to be able to). Ask him to keep hold of a woman's heart and he found the grounds were extraordinarily shaky.

Biting his lip, he decided he'd have to make a sudden move and yank his arm free. He did just so and Elsie jerked against him.

"Oh…"

"Sorry, needed my arm back."

"Mmm," she rolled onto her side, eyes still closed. "Did I drift off?" She mumbled.

"You were asleep within five minutes."

She looked up at him, "Oh, I was not."

"Alright, twenty-five."

Chuckling she pushed the bedclothes down and kicked her legs free, "Did you move the tray?"

"A-ha."

"I need the bathroom."

"Okay, this is done I think. Or will be in the next few seconds."

"Was it good?" She asked as she hobbled towards the door, slowly stretching her back as she went.

"Awful."

The room was dimmer as she re-entered it, the television off, Charles flat on his back waiting for her.

She slid in beside him, snuggling up against his body and kissing him.

"Hi darling."

"Hi. Beautiful lady."

Her hand was sliding over his waist, fingers trailing over his bare skin and she was placing kisses to his chest, her eyes closed, melting into him, melting back into sleep.

Charles groaned, eyes closed, lifting his hand up her back, burying his nose into her hair.

"I need to tell you something."

"Mm, okay," she lifted her face up to his, "Is it that you love me? Because I love you." She squeezed him, "very, very, _very_ much." She covered him with kisses until he was laughing and thoughts of bringing up another woman's name flew from his head.

Elsie shifted her body, groaning at the twinge in her spine, "Sorry, gotta lay on my back."

She did just that, but was surprised when Charles moved, turning over and laying against her, his long legs bent in order to make the position work.

"You do know I love you?" he said, cradled in her arms, his head on her breasts, her hands rubbing his back and shoulders, fingers through his hair.

"Of course I know," her voice was gentle, comforting as he lay against her, like a child who needed soothing.

"This time last week you turned up here drunk."

She laughed, "Oh god, I'd forgotten that. It seems forever ago."

"Well, you wouldn't have thought your boyfriend would have collapsed in the in-between."

She rested her chin on his head, closing her eyes at the image of him on the floor, crumpled and dependent.

"It scared me, you know," She finally said.

"Me collapsing?"

"Yes, I didn't say… I didn't want you to feel…"

He moved now, turning over onto his stomach to look at her in the half light. "For me to feel like a hindrance?"

"You're hardly that."

"But a little older than you, and clearly not aging as well, and men deteriorate quicker, don't they?"

"What a load of nonsense."

"Fairly tame language for you."

"Bullshit then, a load of bullshit."

He wrinkled his nose, "Elsie…"

"It scared me because I suddenly thought 'my god, he might be really ill."

"And you'd be lumbered with me after only a few months together?"

"Not that. Don't be ridiculous. Because we've only had these months, and I suddenly thought what if something happened – to either one of us. If something happened we have no legal ties, nothing concrete, just the feeling between us, just the knowledge only we two share about what this is." She felt her throat tighten and lifted a hand up to rub her eyes before tears fell. "Look, it was just my reaction, seeing you in that hospital bed. I'd never seen you ill, it surprised me, you looked…smaller, somehow. And to me you've always seemed so…"

He smiled, "Big?"

She smiled in return, "I guess so." Her fingers danced over her cheek, wiping away the moisture there.

"Why are you upset?"

"I don't know," she shrugged, "just being silly."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"I know," she tried to smile again but instead felt her shoulders shake as yet more tears fell. "I don't know why I'm crying, I'm being ridiculous."

He held her hand in his, kissing the back of it. "I'm sorry I scared you."

"No, don't say that, I don't want you to feel guilty. It's not that… It's just a realisation of things. Of life and how bloody short it can be, how cruel. My mother was dead in her fifties, and I wasn't there, you know. And I feel so terrible for that. Becky wouldn't have known and my father is hardly the comforting type and I think of her alone, ill, and just needing someone to hold her hand. I worry she was scared. I suppose I'm scared of it, death. Of being alone."

"When you die?" He shook his head, moved imperceptibly closer to her. "You won't be. Of course you won't be. You're loved; you have so many friends. You have me." he added gently.

She smiled, shifting down the bed so she was lying on her side facing him. "You don't have to make promises. We don't. It's not a lifetime."

"Does that make it any less valuable? Any less meaningful?"

She thought about it, staring into his soft, caring eyes. "No."

"Well then. You didn't pull away when I was holed up in that hospital bed. You invited me to your home, to take care of me, I'm assuming."

"Of course."

"So we're neither of us thinking of disappearing if the other one takes ill?"

"No."

He brushed his hand down her arm, "But. I would never want to be a burden, Elsie."

"God no," she moved quickly then, arms around him, kissing him fiercely. "I don't want to lose you, that's all. I don't want to lose you. Not now."

He held her tight, silently reassuring.

"I never thought…" she whispered, "not even for a second, that I'd find this." She pulled back looking at him.

"Everyone else seemed to find it so easily," he agreed.

She kissed him again; long sweet kisses in the dark then moved back, giggling as she felt him against her thigh.

"If we don't stop we'll get carried away," she warned.

"I'm perfectly happy with that."

"You're meant to be resting."

"I'm very rested."

Elsie laid on her back, and he cuddled against her again, closing his eyes and quickly drifting towards sleep because, despite his claims to the contrary, he was still tired and he was still recovering.

"My father isn't getting any better," she said after several minutes of stroking his back and staring at the ceiling. "I need to go back to Scotland and see him. Sort out some things…"

Charles was already asleep.

* * *

 _Kinda glad to still be with them. Love to know what you think xx_


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

 **Friday 2** **nd** **September**

Charles was rolling up his shirt cuffs as he came into Elsie's kitchen, pausing by the door and smirking to himself as she danced around, simultaneously trimming the flowers he'd brought her and dropping them into a vase at the same time as moving to the music.

She twirled and noticed him, not a pause in her step as she grinned and continued singing.

"Having fun?"

"Classic 80s on the radio!" She enthused, carrying the vase over to the table and setting it into the middle. "George Michael at his best!"

He chuckled, "If you say so."

"Don't you remember that? Dancing to Wham in the clubs?" She moved closer to him, shifting her hips from one side to the other, sliding her hands over his chest. " _I'm your man_ …" she sang before leaning in to kiss him.

He wrapped her in his arms, "I am your man. Definitely."

"Mmm," she kissed him again, "and I'm glad my man is so much better. Healthy."

"Me too."

She slipped from his arms, switching off the radio and tidying away the leaves and cut offs from the flowers.

"Smells like paint in the house Elsie; you had some work done?"

"Thank you for my flowers, they look lovely, don't you think?"

"They do; you avoiding my question?"

"Just done some tidying up, touching up, you know. You ready to go?"

"Sure. Is my collar right?"

"Yes," she straightened it for him anyhow. "You are okay, aren't you? To go here this evening?"

"It's a barbecue, hardly strenuous."

"No, I guess not. There, done." She rested her hands on his shoulders.

"Which reminds me…"

"Of?"

"Can we have sex again yet?"

She laughed, "Don't tell me you've missed it."

"Darling, I'm dreaming of it. Daily."

"Well, we'll have to see, won't we…" She had that wonderful twinkle in her eye as she spoke. "Shall we get going, I'm starving, didn't have lunch in anticipation of good food tonight."

"Always decent burgers at Robert's barbecues. Uses a good butcher."

"I'd expect nothing less than top quality with their money. And I'll have an ally; Tom's going."

He rolled his eyes, "You hardly need an ally. But all the girls should be there too – haven't seen them in a while. Except Sybil – sweet thing."

"Kind of her to visit you."

"We had the most wonderful afternoon and she's so, you know, round now." He indicated the swell of her belly by placing his hands on his own.

"You didn't say that to her though, did you?" she slipped on her cardigan.

"Course not, I'm not that much of a dinosaur."

She smirked – he was, or could be, and they both knew it.

"I'll get my jacket," she said, "just in case in turns cool. If we'd stayed at your place we'd have been able to walk there."

"I missed your bed," he stated, digging his hands into his pockets. There was a slight niggling at the back of his mind, something about her keeping him away from her, from her house. It was probably nothing, probably his own insecurities, but odd nevertheless.

* * *

Tom caught hold of Elsie's elbow as he passed her, leading her back from the small group she was chatting to and smiling cheekily as she leaned in to hug him.

"Hello gorgeous," he said, returning the hug. "Where the hell have you been?"

"Busy," she kissed his cheek, "I could ask the same of you."

"Preparing for fatherhood, scary business you know, what happens to a woman."

She chuckled, sipping her drink and allowing him to lead her to a quiet corner of the garden. "I wouldn't know. But she's looking… what do they say? Glowing?"

"Yeah, they do. She's so mellow you know, nothing bothers her. I'm a flipping mess of insecurities."

"Never, you've never in your life been insecure. You found out the sex?"

"You know I would've told you if we had. She wants it to be a surprise, I don't mind that, it's sorta nice. But how are you? Not heard from you since before Spain – all's well?"

"It is," she smiled over her glass at him.

He nudged her arm, "Now who's glowing?"

"I am not."

"Well, someone certainly is," he indicated where Charles stood pontificating across the other side of the garden. A group of young women surrounding him in fits of laughter as he regaled them with his stories. "He looks well; Syb said he'd had quite the turn."

"He did. I was a little worried… He's fine now," she smiled again.

"You think I don't know you, your tone? It got to you, didn't it?"

She stepped closer to him, comforted by his presence and the fact this man knew her so well. "It did," she drew the word out, closing her eyes momentarily. "Surprised me, actually, how much it did. Actually…" she took another drink.

" _Actually_?"

"I'm going to ask him to move in."

"Fuck me!"

"Shh…" she grabbed his arm.

"You've never kept a guy around for more than a month or so."

"You. I kept you around."

"I was different; we were friends with the occasional benefit."

"Shut up."

"Go on then darling, what's the grand plan? Because I know you've got one."

"Always organised, of course. A romantic meal, a sexy outfit, a key in a red velvet box." She laughed, "You think that'll work?"

"You could mention it to him casually as you drove home and he'd still say yes."

"I've had some work done."

He narrowed his eyes, "Work? Where, not your boobs?"

"Oh bugger off! Course not. Not that kind of work." She leant back, glancing down at herself, "I think I look okay for my age."

"Birthday coming up…"

"Don't start, you know how I feel about that."

"What's he going to get you?"

"We haven't discussed it actually. I don't even think I told him the date."

Tom looked across at Charles again, "He'll know, don't worry. What's the work then?"

"In the house, made room for him – I guess you could put it like that."

His eyebrows rose, "Made room? You continue to surprise me."

"I'm pissed off, truth be told."

"Why?"

"Because it's only just finished, _just_. The house still reeks of paint and I haven't quite decided if I'm happy with the position of the furniture and whether the blanket works, the colour scheme. Don't bloody laugh."

"As if he'll care."

"Tom! I want him to care, I want it to be right."

"You're being very sweet."

"Oh piss off. Taking the mick now."

"Noo, just saying. Why did you have him round, if you're not ready to show it off?"

"He just turned up didn't he – I didn't intend for him to stay over," Elsie said, knocking back the last of the gin in her glass. "I was going to go to his, I've managed it the last few times, going to his flat before he can protest."

"Why don't just tell him?"

"No, I have an entire plan. I want it to be just right."

"Fair enough. I wouldn't dare interfere. And how's your father? Last time we spoke you said he wasn't well."

"Flu that won't disappear; he's still… he's not well. I'm going to go up there, spend a week, maybe less depending on how cold the greeting is."

"I'm sure it'll be fine."

She shrugged, "Charles wants to come along."

"I think that'd be good. For you and for him, to see where you're from."

"And meeting my Dad?" She shook her head, lifted her glass to her lips before realising it was empty. "Oh bollocks."

"Come on, let's get some barbecue and Pimms."

"I hate Pimms."

He hooked his arm around hers, "I know."

* * *

Elsie leaned back, blissfully happy, eyes closed. She felt free and secure as Charles' arms curled around her waist and she moved her hips in time to the music that drifted out over the garden. Relaxed, she tilted her neck back, feeling his mouth kiss her very delicately there.

The sun had long since set but the evening was warm and embraced them – the sky clear overhead, scattered with iridescent stars.

"How did you know it was me?" He whispered by her ear.

"Sixth sense."

"Wouldn't let just anyone do this?"

She turned in his arms, trailing her hands over his shoulders, "Hmm, would I?" She teased.

He nudged her nose with hers, closing his eyes as he kissed her. She kept hers open, watched how serene his expression was as their lips touched.

"So, tonight…?" He murmured, holding her close as they danced.

"Yes?" She felt his hands slide down to her hips, "Do you have plans?"

"I've got goals."

"Goals!" She laughed, "You've been hanging out with too many young girls. Don't think I didn't notice."

"Ah, grant an old man some treats."

"Treats!" She pinched his arm. "You're quite the wordsmith tonight. Next you'll be talking about things being on fleek."

"No idea what that means but you look absolutely ravishing tonight," he kissed her cheek again.

"As I said, a way with words. You old charmer."

He pulled her tighter to him, let her head fall to his shoulder as they danced – or rather, swayed, he preferred to think of it that way.

"I'll call a taxi soon," he said and he heard her smile.

"We can't leave too early."

"It's after eleven."

She pulled back dramatically, "Good lord, is it? We best get going before your gladrags turn to a pauper's uniform, Buttons."

"Oh bugger off."

She laughed, cuddling him again. "You're so cute."

"Don't say it like that, makes me sound like a kid."

"Well…" She twisted her mouth, laughter stretching it into a smile.

"I'm going to go find some dessert, do you want anything?"

"No, I'm fine. I'll have some coffee though."

"Alright, won't be long."

As Charles headed back inside, Elsie felt slightly redundant – Tom was slow dancing with Sybil and she didn't much feel like forcing herself into existing conversations so she wandered off from the impromptu dancefloor that had been created on the patio.

Slowly crossing the garden, hands folded behind her back, she enjoyed the momentary solitude. It was quieter away from the house and she rather liked the ambience of it; behind her the music, the chatter of an evening spent with friends. The fragrance of barbecue, the clatter of glasses. Ahead of her was a bench beneath a canopy of twisting white roses and she paused, turned and sat, hoping Charles would spot her when he returned with her coffee.

For a second she closed her eyes, her legs out in front of her crossed at the ankles.

"Sorry, don't mind if I sit here for a moment, do you?" A voice asked and she opened one eye and then quickly pulled her legs back and sat up straight.

"Oh, of course not," she shifted along slightly, the low branch of the tree just catching the top of her hair. "Sorry, taking up all the room."

"We've never really chatted, have we?" Alice stated rather than asked, her hip butting up against Elsie's as she sat.

"I suppose we haven't, not really. How are you, and Charlie, how is he?"

"Oh he's fine, we both are," Alice seemed to turn slightly on the bench, putting her in the position of being able to carefully watch her companion.

Elsie, never one to be intimidated, did the same, shifting as far back as she could so could look Alice in the eye. Up close she could be picky; she could spot wrinkles that were deep around the pretty woman's eyes and running down the side of her nose. She noted the thick foundation and the tell-tale signs of grey roots shining at the base of the blonde locks.

But then, she didn't want to be a bitch. Not really. She'd rather take the high road if at all possible, even if the woman, and her history with Charles, did grate on her.

"You're enjoying the party?"

"Yes it's lovely," Elsie glanced over the garden to where the others guests were, hoping Charles would come save her. "Feels a little like the end of summer though, the last good weekend of weather where you can do this."

"I know what you mean, and I suppose after the temperatures in Spain this feels positively chilly." Alice said, her face bright with a smile.

Elsie felt her face strain as she returned it, "Yes, it was gorgeous."

"Charles said how much you enjoyed it. And what a treat hey, that luxurious hotel – you ever stayed there before?"

Somehow she maintained the smile, "No, it was wonderful, I felt very lucky."

"Wouldn't we all. I saw some of the pictures, the ones he's framed for his wall – the beach shots are great; great views."

"Yes, they were." She wished she had a drink – _when the hell had she been to the flat and seen the pictures?_ "It was quite the holiday, memorable, our first together so…"

"Mmm. Seems to be going so well with you two, who would've thought; meeting at New Year; getting together like you did?"

Elsie re-crossed her ankles, "I know. Who would've thought?"

"Such a shame he took ill… Took the sparkle off it a little one would guess."

"Yes," she wasn't quite sure where this was heading but something told her to be careful. "It was; I mean it did a little. At least he's on the mend, I was worried there for a while." She tried to add a laugh, lighten the conversation somewhat.

"I heard what you said," Alice launched into, surprising Elsie. Her tone remained friendly, chatty almost, but her eyes appeared anything but. "About Charles, and not asking him to stay over."

 _Oh, so this was the plan_. She bit down on her bottom lip, "Well, of course, that was not how it sounded."

"Oh, of course, I know," Alice laughed – hollow, brittle – and twisted her wedding ring on her finger. "You did used to date him though, didn't you? Tom?"

"Well, not exactly…"

"Lucky you again; quite the young catch."

"Do you want to stop playing around and ask me a direct question?"

"Am I the one playing around?"

"Well, clearly you have something to say to me, or some point you want to make. Which is fine, I suppose. You've known Charles a long time –,"

"A very long time."

Elsie cleared her throat, licked her lips. "I know. And you have some opinion of me, of what I'm doing with your… 'friend'."

"You don't think I'm Charles' friend?"

"Oh I have quite a few thoughts on what you are."

Alice smiled, her nose twitching just slightly as she lifted her chin, "I'm intrigued."

"I don't play games, Alice. Clearly you do. Or like to."

"Do I?"

"I think you like to. In fact, if we _really_ want to do this, I think I know you quite well. You see I've encountered quite a few women like you – they play the part, smile, say the right things. But there's a manipulative –,"

"–Manipulative. That's interesting, coming from you."

"What is it you think I'm doing exactly?"

Alice shrugged, "You tell me."

Elsie smiled, sat back and laughed incredulously, "You think I'm what? Some black widow character? This is hilarious."

"Or accurate."

"I can tell you quite plainly that I do _not_ need Charles for his money, I'm doing fine on my own, thank you very much." She sat forward again, suddenly feeling very fired up. "I'll tell you what I do know and that is what kind of woman _you_ are, I'm not quite sure why you're doing it… I have no reason why you're talking to me now; to warn me off perhaps? Stake your claim? You've had years of him hanging on your every word, making him foolishly believe that one day you might beckon him over to play happy families. You and I both know that's bullshit. Because you'll never leave Charlie, right?"

Alice's eyes had dropped slightly, not completely defeated but realising that Elsie was more than a match.

"I'll never leave him."

"Course not, you'd have done it by now. The thing is, I'm not sure if you've realised this or not yet, but Charles doesn't care anymore."

"Doesn't he?"

"I love him very much; and if you want to challenge me…"

"…I haven't said…"

"…Then just try." She breathed, "I know the kind of woman you are, I know how you like to play. But I'm no pushover, Alice. So, we can either play nice," she got to her feet quickly when she spotted Charles coming out of the house with Robert, she didn't look back at Alice as she spoke, "but hurt him… hurt us, and I'll rip you apart."

* * *

Elsie practically raced for the downstairs bathroom as soon as she'd unlocked the door, kicking off her shoes in the hallway and disappearing before Charles had even got inside.

"Put the kettle on!" She shouted out to him and he shook his head as he hung up his jacket and made his way into the kitchen. He turned on the lowlights and ran the cold water for a few seconds before filling the kettle and flicking it on.

"Thank God; that's better," She said as she joined him in there.

Charles almost choked when he turned and noted her appearance; the jeans were gone and the blouse she was wearing clung deliciously to the tops of her bare thighs.

"That's some outfit."

"The belt was digging in my stomach; I think I ate one burger too many."

He caught hold of her waist as she passed him, squeezing and kissing her forehead, "It's a good look. White shirt. White lace underwear…" His mouth twisted into a half smile.

"Mm, you want tea?" She asked – clearly he wanted much more.

He nodded and she moved away from him, taking out mugs and teabags from the cupboard.

"It's going dark so early now, I hate it, I already miss summer. Soon it'll be Bonfire Night and then Christmas and all that rush."

"Yeah, and a certain someone has a birthday prior to all that."

"Don't remind me of that neither."

"I want to do something nice, spoil you."

She smiled as she poured the water into the teapot, "Don't buy anything extravagant, we'll just have dinner with our friends, maybe go away for the weekend."

"I like how you say 'our' friends."

"Of course they are," her voice was gentle now.

"Did something happen tonight?" Charles asked, slipping off his shoes.

"Something?" She replied, turning to face him; she didn't want to talk about Alice now, or how disappointed she felt that he hadn't told her about the visit. She knew he loved her, she was certain of that, and she'd rather make love to him than worry about some horrid woman trying to stir trouble between them.

He shrugged, "You were quiet in the taxi home, and your…" he touched his chest, "your chest was flushed when we leaving the party, like when you're er, when you're…"

She pursed her lips, dropped her eyes, "When I orgasm." She started moving towards him, "Is that what you were thinking?"

His mouth dropped open, he licked his lips and watched as she lifted the blouse she was wearing up and over her head.

"Breathe Charles."

He exhaled, then breathed deeply.

"Shall we go to bed?" She asked casually, head tilted as she took in his expression, his wonderful soft eyes. "That is what you've been dreaming of all night, isn't it?"

"I want you right here."

Now she smiled, giggled and bit her lip. "Oh."

His arms were around her in seconds, lifting her up as she laughed; carefree and happy.

"Mr. Carson, whatever are you planning?"

"Having my wicked way with you," he perched her on the edge of the table. "Perhaps more than once."

Their kisses had been tame over the past few weeks, controlled and measured, mostly Elsie's doing as she was keenly aware of nursing him back to health. But now they were passionate and intense as their bodies melted into the other's, wrapping limbs around limbs, pressing together, skin searching for skin.

"You're gonna kill me," he panted, rummaging with his belt and shaking his trousers down.

Elsie gripped his shoulders, "Don't say that," her voice was firm, concerned.

"Just a joke," he smiled, leaning in and kissing her again, "just joking darling."

She wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his back, "Not funny. I want you here for a long time."

"Me too," he kissed her neck and she tilted her head back to give him better access.

"You're sure you're up to this?" She mumbled, and then felt him pull back and glance pointedly down his body. "That's not quite what I meant," she smirked, following his gaze.

"Just you watch me."

Her eyes twinkled and all thoughts of the party and the anxiety inducing conversation with his ex-lover disappeared. She patted his shoulders with her fingertips, then reached back and unhooked her bra, slipping it off and dropping it to the floor.

"Oh my beautiful…" He drew the tip of his index finger down between her breasts and she grabbed hold of it, held on tight, squeezing his finger as she laid back on the table. "My, oh my…" he shook his head, dragged his teeth over his bottom lip and reached down to the lace that ran around the top of her panties.

* * *

They sat on the kitchen floor, Elsie with her back against the wall, Charles between her legs, his head on her breasts. She lifted up her mug, took a gulp of tea and watched her own hand as she trailed her fingertips back and forth across his chest. She teased him by circling his nipple with her thumb nail and he jerked a little against her, moving his legs, raising his knees.

"This isn't great for my back," he mumbled, lucid with pleasure.

"Nor mine, I did suggest bed, remember?" She kissed the top of his head, "Least you have a pillow."

"Nice one too," he turned himself over, grinning at her before leaning in and kissing her breasts again.

"You'll end up with tea on your head," she held her mug aside.

"Then put it…" he reached for it, taking it from her and placing it on the floor, "…down and pay attention to me."

"Pay attention to you, is that what they call it?"

Her fingers folded with his as his face moved close to hers and he rubbed the tip of her nose with his, "Love you," he whispered, "so much I can't say."

She threaded her fingers into his thick hair, "I know."

Pushing against his shoulders she forced him to his knees and he complained at the sharpness of the movement, keeping still as she got to her feet, naked and glorious before him.

"Your tan is fading," he said and held a hand up to her.

"Back to the bottled stuff," she helped pull him to his feet. "Race you up."

"It still stinks of paint in here," he complained but she was already backing out of the room.

"Tidy up, won't you, lock the doors, do the dishes…"

"Bugger off," he chuckled, chasing after her and up the stairs.

* * *

He was giddy like a schoolboy the second time; whilst the first had been slow and sensual, whilst he'd remember the joy of her body, the love they shared so physically and emotionally entwined, whilst he'd been drowsy afterwards. Not the second time. He'd been energetic, enthusiastic and she'd been laughing as he'd raced towards his orgasm, moaning so loudly she feared her neighbours across the street might hear.

"Oh you didn't," he splutters, hands either side of her head pressed into the pillow, panting, "you didn't…"

"Didn't… I barely had time to know what was happening."

"I'm sorry, sorry," he covers her chest in kisses, up her neck, captures her mouth as he slides out of her body and groans at the loss of warmth. "Oh god I love you," he mumbles against her skin, "love you, love you, beautiful, wonderful woman."

And she is laughing again, all messy hair and flushed skin, her legs tangled around his and the bedsheets.

"Kinda missed you being in my bed."

"You have no idea," he says, bringing his mouth up from her stomach to look at her. He is grinning like a fool, smile so wide she thinks his cheeks must ache from it and the kind of glint in his eyes a recently deflowered teenage boy might have.

"Oh I think I have a sort of idea, judging on your actions just now."

"Love you," he says again for the hundredth time, pressing against her, one hand cupping her breast and marvelling at the feel of it in his palm.

"I'm sorry, have we met? I think we might've slept together before but I'm not convinced now."

He laughs at her statement, moving slightly to his knees and giving her a look of sheer delight as he reaches for her thigh and holds her leg.

"Again?" she is incredulous as he positions himself. She feels the tip of his penis press against her and reaches down between them, pressing her hand against his lower belly. "Not just yet, darling. I know I like sex but even I need a bit of a rest between bouts."

He laughs again, wordlessly leaning in to kiss her.

"You're like a giddy kid."

"Am I?" He doesn't want to move; in fact he thinks he could lie here forever just making love to her. He feels a little of the drive he used to have when he ran as a young man, when you reached a point where you felt like you could keep going forever and never tire. He's there now, right in the middle of that moment. "Did I get carried away?"

"Yes, you did, you are. Look at you," she pushes against his chest until he shifts to the side and lets her move, "and still recovering."

"Still alive though."

"Very much so. Clearly."

She lies beside him facing him on the pillow and he cuddles her to him, pressing kisses to her head and wrapping his arms around her body.

"Elsie Hughes," he says gently and she tilts her face up to his, smiling softly, "I love you."

"You said that many times."

"And I'll keep saying it because I'll keep meaning it."

Her smile grows and she kisses his mouth, stroking his chin and the slight roughness of bristles coming in. "I love you too, Mr. Carson. Even if you were in a bit of a rush tonight."

"I am sorry about that," he says, something of the usual Charles returning, the animated tone of earlier replaced with his deep timbre. "I do feel bad now."

"Don't," she enthuses, "goodness don't. I don't mind, I'm happy you're happy." Her nails just graze a little too sharply as she adds, "Let's not have it happen again though."

"Yes boss."

They're both laughing as they lean in to kiss again and he rolls onto his back pulling her with him and cuddling her as she finds her usual spot against his chest.

"So, I spoke to my father," she whispers later into the darkness, "Yesterday. And I think I'm going to go up this week."

Charles is half asleep by then, warm and content; he's quite sure there's nothing more on earth he needs.

He mumbles something incoherent and she twists over, looking up at him and, for a while, watching him as he sleeps.

When it is clear sleep is evading her she slides from his arms, out of the bed, and tiptoes downstairs.

* * *

She's halfway through a pile of bedding when Charles comes down, finding her hunched over the ironing board, watching an old film whilst she works.

"Trouble sleeping?" He whispers, though he's unsure why on reflection; there's only the two of them in the house after all.

She jumps at the sound of his voice and looks over her glasses at him.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."

"It's alright."

"This is an old one," he notes as he sits on the sofa, "Is it Jason and the Argonauts?"

"Yeah, shocking effects now but somehow," she stood the iron up, "still engaging."

"Used to love it as a lad." He turns to watch her as she folds the bedsheet, "Want me to help?"

"I don't mind."

"Do you want to tell me what's on your mind or bugger off and leave you alone?"

Now she smiles, "You can stay, if you make a cup of tea."

"Ah, there's a price to pay."

He does as she asks, even though it's gone two in the morning and he's barely awake.

She's finished ironing and is tidying away the board when he carries in two mugs of tea.

"So, now you have refreshment, will you tell me what's on your mind?" Charles patted the sofa beside him, "Elsie, come on."

"Just a minute, let me finish this. Tidy up."

"It can wait."

"I'm gonna go up to Scotland this week, I'm not sure how long I'll be away." She states matter-of-factly, as if saying it quickly will somehow lessen the impact.

He holds his breath for a second as she carries the ironing board into the hall.

"I'll go on the train," She says and suddenly he's wide awake, "book my tickets tomorrow."

"What? When?"

"Tuesday, maybe, if I can sort things with Anna. I feel bad leaving her again to cope so soon after our holiday but I need to talk to him face-to-face. Things are going on and I… I need to talk to him."

"I'll come with you."

She sits on the sofa across from him, folding her legs beneath her, "You don't have to."

"I want to. I want to help."

"There's no need Charles, really."

"Don't hide things from me."

She thinks that ironic given what she found out from Alice but she bites her lip to avoid snapping at him.

"I can drive you up there."

"It's easier by train, hire a car from the station."

"Then I'll do that, hire the car, I have a company I use when I travel, I can call them. And where are we staying?"

She feels herself smile at the use of 'we'. "I don't know, I hadn't looked. Not the farm, I can't live with my father again."

"Then I'll book a B&B or something. I can do that Elsie, let me help," his voice has this quality that makes her want to melt into his arms and promise him everything, pour her soul out to him.

She lifts her head to look at him, "What if I'm not what you think?"

"In what way?"

"I don't know, being home, seeing people and places… what if you see a side of me that isn't one you like."

"I think I know you by now." He's moving over to her, sitting on the coffee table so he's as close to her as he can be without intimidating.

"You think we can ever really know anyone, really?"

"Yes, and don't be like this, you aren't like this, not with me." He lifts her hand and kisses the back of it and she feels bad then for being sharp with him.

"You think I'm successful, right?"

He nods; of course he does, she's done so well business wise.

"I'm practically poor Charles. My savings are few, most of my money is tied up in buildings and the like, and any money I make for myself I usually end up sending to my family. So, there, I'm not all you thought."

"None of that matters."

"Doesn't it? You don't think I'm after your money."

"Course not." He laughs at that idea, "You didn't know me when we met, you didn't know my background or my worth, just as I didn't know yours. None of that mattered; it was still there, our connection, that draw towards each other."

"I guess so," she flops back on the sofa, still holding his hand. "Sorry. For being… difficult."

"Don't be. Why didn't you tell me earlier, going to the party, putting on a brave face?"

"I wanted you to enjoy the night, _I_ wanted to enjoy the night. And I did. But I've got to deal with this now."

"You haven't told me things, clearly. Why?"

She pursed her lips considering, "Maybe because I don't know where to start."

"It worries me, that you feel you have to keep things from me."

She turns his hand over, studies the lines on his palm. Earlier these hands were drifting over her body, sure and careful, tender yet demanding.

"If you don't want me to come, I mean, if you really don't want me to…"

"You know I want you there, I'm just being polite."

"Well, let's forget that." He leans forward, kissing her forehead. "Book two train tickets and I'll sort the accommodation, don't you worry."

* * *

 **Tuesday 6** **th** **September**

It's raining when they pull out of York the station, mid-morning drizzle and watercolour skies. If she were travelling alone Elsie would have booked a standard seat, but with Charles and his long legs and the way noisy people aggravated him, she opted for first class.

He stowed their luggage as she found the window seats, ordered them both tea and got biscuits and peanuts.

"So then," he says, a good twenty minutes into the journey. "You think we've got this rain for the week?"

"Hopefully not, but that is one of my overriding memories of home – rain, and mud." She smiles. "I'm worried about what's going to greet me," she admits, sitting back and stretching her legs out, her feet catching the hem of his trousers.

"You mean, in terms of how your father will respond to you?"

"Not that, not really. He knows we're coming, we spoke a couple of times and he knows…" she turned her train ticket over on the table, fiddling with it, bending the corners as she spoke. "He's intrigued by the fact you're coming with me; nosy old bugger really."

"He knows who I am?"

"Of course, I told him I'd met someone."

"I didn't realise you…" he smiles, "…I'm glad. I feel a bit proud about that. Is that ostentatious?"

"I don't think so," she fiddles in her handbag, taking out a hand mirror and checking herself in it. "Though god knows why, I look shocking today. Look at the bags under my eyes, lines… I'm gonna need some serious foundation before we go into the village."

"It's important to you isn't it, how they see you?"

"Maybe. Will you get some more tea?"

"Don't shift the conversation on." He sits forward, arms on the table.

"Okay, yes it matters to me, I don't want to be seen as a failure in any of their eyes."

"As if you could be, really."

She shrugs, "I'm worried about the state of the farm," she says, running a hand through her hair. "That I'm going to have to make some big decisions that my Dad will hate and I'll upset things again but it has to be done, see."

"You need to explain this to me properly now. You hinted that you hold it up financially."

She nodded, "Yes. I get all the correspondence, from the bank and suppliers and the like."

"So, technically you're running two businesses?"

"Maybe. You could see it that way. It doesn't… It's their home, not just a business, and I feel like the biggest bitch in the world by going up there to tell them that they're haemorrhaging money and I can't afford to bail them out."

"You aren't a bitch."

"Maybe not to you – well, not all the time. Not now." She smiles a little, tilting her to head to one side and resting it on the back of the chair.

"Never," he says gently, his foot touching hers beneath the table.

"My Dad won't move, and it's all Becky's ever known and I really…" she groaned, "god I don't know what I'm going to do."

"Maybe it won't be so bad."

"Perhaps. I'm hoping Dad will see sense and allow me to sell off some land, reduce what he farms. Maybe the house won't be in a bad state," she shrugged again. "I guess we'll see."

"We going tonight?"

"No, I figure we'd go tomorrow, I told him tomorrow. May as well rest tonight, have some dinner when we get to the hotel, drive there nice and fresh."

He nodded, glancing out of the window at the countryside sweeping by, "Rain's easing."

"So pretty isn't it, this view. I mean, I loved Spain, don't get me wrong, but this view is just…"

"I know. Wonderful. I said as much to Alice," he glanced back to her face as soon as the name left his lips but she showed no sign of annoyance. "So, I wanted to mention something to you," he said, suddenly feeling slightly apprehensive. "She visited, when I was just out of hospital, brought my favourite chocs."

Elsie swallowed, reached for her cup and drank the dregs of lukewarm tea, "I know," she said softly.

"You what?"

"I said, I already knew. She told me."

"Oh. And you never said anything?"

"What did you want me to say?" she turned her head a little, her forehead resting against the windowpane, a hint of something in her expression that made his chest ache.

"How did you…?"

"That thing the other night, what was it – meant to be a barbecue but more like a state dinner."

"Els –,"

"I'm just saying. Besides, that doesn't matter. Your lovely friend couldn't wait to saunter over to me and have a little chat. Made it clear she'd seen our holiday snaps around your flat."

"Oh. Why didn't you say?"

She shrugged, "Nothing to say. I made it quite clear what I think of her…"

"You…?"

"…And actually, I don't care." She sat up again, a flash of anger as she recalled the awkward conversation with Alice, "I don't care, Charles. Am I annoyed you didn't tell me straight away? Of course, that's a bit of a lousy thing to do."

"But I –,"

"Am I going to let her get to me? Not at all. Am I sure you love me? Yes, quite sure. And I don't think you'd cheat so, really, I don't care. She can play games all she wants; she knows now I don't care."

"What did you say to her?"

"Told her she was nothing but a whore who Charles said was rubbish in bed and had saggy tits."

"Elsie Hughes!" He gasped, gawping as he gazed around the carriage checking nobody had heard.

She laughed, "Course, I bloody didn't. You think you can order alcohol at this time of day?"

"Not until lunch I would think, but stop… what did you really say to her?"

"Do we need to talk about it, really?" she sighed, "I've other things on my mind than her. Surprised she hasn't called you actually, labelled me as…"

"Elsie," he reached for her hand across the table. "I don't care about her, I care about you. I didn't mean to upset you by not saying anything earlier."

"It did hurt, it hurt when she said it but then she meant for it to hurt. I find it interesting that you keep telling me we should share everything."

"Yeah, I deserved that. But none of us are perfect, despite my appearance, I am only human."

She smiled at that, sitting forward to hold both of his hands with hers. "Oh I don't know. And I'm not angry with you, really, it doesn't matter. I just don't want her to feel she has something over me, something to use against us."

"She's not going to break us up, I don't think she's trying, that she even cares."

"She thinks I'm some kind of gold digger, after your money, she told me so."

His mouth fell open, "So that's where that came from the other night. I did wonder."

"Made me feel a bit icky to be honest."

"Icky?" He frowned.

"Like, just, dirty I suppose. Like she made what we have feel a little bit…grubby. Then I realised that was silly because she's just an absolute bitch. Really Charles, she is."

His head fell forward and he stared at their hands, "I know." He whispered.

"I was quite… abrupt. Sharp, really, with her."

"What did you say?" He looked up again, a slight glint in his eyes as he watched her face.

She bit her lip, "That I'd rip her apart, to shreds, I think I said."

"Good god," he smiled, then sat back and laughed loudly, drawing the gaze of a few of the fellow passengers. "Oh you are wonderful."

"Am I?"

"Truly, truly wonderful. And I love you," he brought her hand up and kissed the back of it, "Whatever happens."

She breathed deeply, feeling calm, "I love you too. Whatever happens."

* * *

As Elsie watched Charles fuss with their suitcases, grumbling under his breath in the dim light of the room, stomping about with complaint, she felt her heart swell with affection for him.

It had occurred to her, as they'd driven from the archaic train station and towards the places she'd grown up in, that being _home_ always made her feel so very lonely. Try as she might, she'd never really been part of this community. She'd never been able to settle in and just get on with it. She'd always wondered what else was out there; where she might go, who she might meet; and when she'd tried to 'fit in' and do as they all expected – engagement leading to marriage leading to children leading to oblivion and nothingness – that was all she saw.

The memory of who she was then, of who she dreamed she might never get to be, was so raw it startled her. As if the bitter wind itself bore the traces of the mistakes she'd made, whipping about her as she'd exited the train and followed Charles to their hire car.

"Bloody ridiculous, bloody, bloody stupid…" he'd complained, hauling her suitcase onto the bed. "I've a good mind to demand a refund and go elsewhere."

He looked up at her, her silhouette against the fading afternoon light of the window.

"What?" He dropped the lid of the case, "What? You're crying, why?"

She hastily wiped her face, shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself.

"Elsie?" He moved to her, his hands on her shoulders, "Darling, what's wrong? Not this damned room?"

She smiled through her silent tears, "No, not that. That's almost comical – in the way you can be comical."

"Bloody disgrace, that's what it is."

"You said that," she closed her eyes, moved into his embrace, "Hold me for a moment."

He did just that, confused and bewildered but holding her just the same, his chin resting on her head.

"Sorry 'bout the room being so shit," he said, glancing through the window to the street below; slick pavements under the orange warmth of a streetlamp. Endless rivers of black.

She chuckled against his chest, into his shirt, "It's alright."

"Looked decent enough on the website. Feel like I've been done over."

Elsie lifted her head to look up at him, "Is it a bit shit," she smiled, pressing her palms to his chest. "But that's okay, we can cope with it for a few days." She glanced at the bed, "Not sure about sleeping in that though."

He followed her gaze, "So, I'll definitely find us somewhere else. Don't even bother unpacking."

"I like it when you put on your stern voice."

He smiled, shaking his head, "You sure you're okay?"

She nodded, "Will be. Just being back here I suppose."

"Mmm…"

"We'll never find somewhere else at this time of day."

"I can't eat in this place," he said.

"We'll get chips, sneak them in. And alcohol. I need alcohol."

"Alright. You think we can find bedsheets too?"

* * *

The only glasses in the room were the plastic ones in the bathroom but they were still in plastic wrapping and clean so Elsie filled them both with Captain Morgan and stood drinking hers as she watched Charles strip the bed and put a fresh bottom sheet on.

"Hurry up, Charlie boy."

He glared at her.

"Just saying, the chips will be cold."

"You could help."

"You're the one who wanted clean bedsheets."

"I couldn't sleep on those."

She couldn't help but smile at the tone in his voice, sometimes he reverted back to the butler role so well. "Best make sure we put the 'don't disturb' sign on the door, I'll be mortified if they know we put our own sheets on the bed."

"We'll throw them away when we go. Thank god for Debenhams."

"Thank god for the off licence."

"And the chippy." He shook out the quilt, more welcoming in its clean white cover, and threw the pillows onto the bed. "Okay, now we can eat."

They sat facing each other, Elsie cross legged, Charles with his legs stretched out beside her. A large portion of chips laid out between them on the paper they came wrapped in.

"Can't say I've ever had Captain Morgan and chips, interesting choice," he said, ripping open another sachet of salt and sprinkling it over them.

"I'm nothing if not classy. Taking me back to my roots – bag of chips on a date."

"Oh, I'm a date am I?"

She smiled, tilting her head to one side, "You're my last date sweetheart, my forever date."

"That's a lovely statement, I like that." He sipped his drink, "Elsie's forever date."

"Look how proud you are." She elbowed his foot, "How is it possible that you always have a hole in your sock?"

"I have big toes." He wiggled them. "Like the rest of me."

She laughed, abrupt and surprised, "That's naughty for you."

"I didn't mean _that_ ," he rolled his eyes. "So, you want to talk to me properly, about why you were upset? Earlier?"

She groaned then flopped back on the bed, "Do we have to talk seriously?" She held up her plastic cup. "Refill please."

He did as she requested, "What time are we leaving in the morning?"

"Trying to make a point," she rubbed his leg with her foot, "I won't be drunk. I just want to sleep."

"That worries me, that you won't sleep."

She shrugged, "You sure you're coming tomorrow?"

"Of course, I want to help. I just heard how trite that sounded, I know I'm not helping, I want to be there. For you."

"Does physical attendance equate strength?"

"You know it doesn't." He knocked back his drink. "You had enough of these?"

She nodded and he balled up the paper and stuffed it into the plastic bag. "I'll take it down to the bin outside. There was a coffee shop, wasn't there, across the street?"

"A-ha, I think so."

"I'll get hot drinks then," he stuffed his feet into his shoes, "did you see my wallet?"

"I have money," she stretched across the bed reaching for her handbag and taking a note from her purse. "Here."

"I don't mind."

" _I_ don't mind neither," she pushed the money into his hand.

* * *

When he came back she'd stripped off her makeup and was settled in the bed; the lamp on the bedside table illuminated her face, the news on the television blurred in the background.

"You have four drinks," she said, looking up from her phone.

"Well, I couldn't decide. So, I got hot chocolate – like dessert really, and then camomile and honey tea, maybe to relax you for bed." He put the cardboard holder on the table at his side of the bed, "Hopefully won't go cold."

"It is chilly in here. I found an extra blanket in the cupboard if you don't mind having it on the bed."

"Maybe just over our feet." He shivered involuntarily as he stripped, clambering into bed beside her and plumping up the pillows behind him. "What's happening in the world?"

"All gone to shit, as per." She took her hot chocolate from him, "Did you get marshmallows?" She asked as she took the lid from him. "Ooh cream."

"Plenty of it too. And yes, of course," he dropped a paper bag onto her lap, "asked for them on the side. I hate it when they melt into your drink."

"Fancy you being fussy," she teased, popping a pink marshmallow into her mouth.

He shook his head and took a white marshmallow from the bag, turning his attention to the evening news. For a while they sat in silence listening to what was going on in the world.

"So, can we talk now?" He asked when he was three quarters of the way down his hot chocolate and she was cuddled up against his arm.

"You waited until I was sweetened up."

"Literally," he lifted his arm up and around her shoulders and kissed her head. "What are you scared of?"

"Spiders. In the bath to be precise."

"Be serious," he squeezed her upper arm.

She craned her neck to look up at him, "I am being serious."

"Elsie."

"I'm worried he'll either be silent, completely silent, we've had that before." She lay down again, tucking her head into the crook of his arm. "Or full of opinions."

He sighed, "And what do you want to say to him?"

"That we need to tackle this issue of the farm and –,"

"No darling, you misunderstand me. I mean, what do you _really_ want to say to him?" His voice was soft, enveloping her. His right hand still holding onto the cup, all but empty now.

She buried her face into his side, breathing in the scent of him, pressing her mouth to his skin.

"I regret not speaking to my mother, before she died. I regret the things I didn't say to her."

"I understand that, I feel the same about my father. He died whilst I was away. You can't keep feeling guilty though."

"Perhaps not, but telling yourself not to feel something doesn't necessarily stop you from feeling it."

"I know."

"I don't want to make the same mistake with him. But then, god, talking to my father about anything emotional has never been easy. But I don't want him to die…" she paused, the thought coming to her abruptly, "…hating me."

"He doesn't hate you."

"You don't know him."

"I think he adores you."

"Maybe. Once."

"I'm not sure he ever dealt with the fact you didn't do what he wanted, forget what happened with his friend, with Geoffrey, I think the real kick was that you left here. You found your own way. And I don't think he'd ever contemplated that, didn't think for a second it would be a possibility. I mean, he was angry sure, but if you'd stayed, married, worked the farm, I think he would have gotten over it. But you didn't. You did something wrong and then you got out, and you didn't fail, you're a success. Man's pride, that's a complicated thing."

She slipped from his arms, laid on her back to look up at him, "You've been reading agony aunt columns."

"Mother's magazines," he smiled.

"Thank you for coming with me, I know I can be difficult and feisty."

"And wonderful. And you knew I wouldn't let you do it alone. I'll help anyway I can, what would help, how can I make you feel better about being here?"

"In this lousy B&B?"

He rolled his eyes.

"A good orgasm perhaps."

He put down his hot chocolate, "Well, I could give it a damn good try Ms Hughes."

She giggled as he leant over her, waggling his eyebrows and leaning in to kiss her.

"Christen the new bedsheets," he said, which made her laugh again.

"The tea will go cold," she said as he kissed her chest; simultaneously moving between her legs, one hand sliding over her kneecap and lifting her leg, his fingers in the crook of it.

"I'll be quick."

"So romantic," she swooned, "like being at the turn of the century – lie back and do your duty girls."

"In dusty old B&Bs with questionable sheets."

"And horrid…" she groaned as his hand moved between her legs, "…headboards."

"Mm," he kissed her again. "I don't think they did that at the turn of the century."

She smiled, looping her hands behind his neck, "You'd be surprised." She brought his mouth down to hers and all talk ended as natural instinct took over.

It wasn't until they were deep in the throes of passion that a niggling issue became obvious – the bed had the most terrible squeak. It quite put Charles off his rhythm and Elsie was giggling again as she placed her hands over his ears to try and block it out.

"Christ…" he mumbled, his chin on her forehead.

"Maybe we should stop," she suggested as he paused and the squeaking ceased.

"Right in the middle?" he panted and she smiled cheekily as she lifted her mouth up to his.

"The floor?"

"That carpet," he frowned, shaking his head.

"The perils of trying to get laid."

"Stop joking," but he couldn't help but join in with her mirth and chuckle along with her.

"Maybe if we move?" She suggested, biting on her lip and wiggling beneath him, which only resulted in yet more squeaking as they turned. "Sit up, sit back," she said, pushing both pillows behind him.

"Bossy."

"I think you like it," she moved gracefully, sitting in his lap, at first knees pressed into the mattress but when his arms wrapped around her back she leant against them and stretched her legs, winding them around his waist.

"Boss me again," he murmured as her mouth crushed against his.

It wasn't all that much better but enough that they didn't feel they were waking the entire building with their lovemaking.

* * *

Later, when they were lying side-by-side in the darkness, sated and comfortable, there was the distinct sound of a squeaking bed coming from elsewhere in the house.

Charles shifted uncomfortably, sighing, and Elsie reached over and patted his hand where it lay on top of the bedsheets.

"There, there dear, at least we know we're not the only ones with a shoddy room."

"Mm," he hummed, irritated.

She kissed his shoulder and cuddled up against him, bringing one of her legs up and over his in an attempt to quell his annoyance – it worked; he kissed her head, wrapped his arms around her and closed his eyes.

Elsie suddenly burst into a fit of giggles, shaking against him.

"What now? Block out the damned noise."

"Not that," she spluttered through her laughter, "bloody bedsheets." She laughed again, "You went and bought bedsheets."

His laughter suddenly filled the dark room, "I guess being a butler is still second nature."

They chuckled together, and the bed squeaked again.

* * *

 **Wednesday 7** **th** **September**

The drive up to the farm was all too familiar; the scream and roll of the cattle grid, tyres crunching over scree, mud splattering pristine wheels. It was grey, the air heavy with dung and that life returned to her on the back of one swift breeze. She could see herself walking the road to the bus stop; hear herself laughing as she ran over the field with Becky at her heels. The sweep of a kite, tangled hair hanging loose in plaits and mouths sticky with blackcurrants freshly picked from the hedgerow.

The old farmhouse, like a kingdom from a distance, still stood proud. The stone glistening in the drizzle, emerald fields dazzling around it.

"Beautiful place," Charles whispered, sitting in the passenger seat beside her. She'd almost forgotten he was there, so caught up in her own memories, in her own anxieties. It had been so long since she'd been here.

She remembered other things. Shouting in the yard, thrown out that night by her father with the door slammed in her face, crying in the dark, in the barn. That long walk with her little roll-along case down the lane and to the bus stop. A bus to the train station this time, not school, she was too old to be educated by then and excused for poor behaviour. A train to London and the old Elsie was gone, young and carefree, secure in her family nest.

The future had looked so unlikely and yet here she was. Perhaps not what any of them had dreamed. Perhaps not what any of them had wanted. But she was here.

"I love you," she said suddenly as she pulled the 4x4 to a stop in the yard. "Whatever happens, whatever's said, I do love you."

He frowned, turned his face to say something in reply but she'd already opened the driver's door and jumped down to the muddy surface.

Charles followed a metre or so behind, zipping up his jacket against the morning briskness, his hair blew back and he reached up to brush it from his face as she slowed near the front door.

He watched her raise her hand to the black door knocker and slam it down twice. They waited and he turned to take in the view; it made him think of Heathcliff and Cathy, the barren land stretching into eternity, the grey days, the general feeling of mud.

When the door opened and a man, bent at the knees and leaning heavily forward, stuck his weathered face out, Charles watched him curiously. His hair, a shock of white, was thick and long around his face. He could see the dry hands, the dirty nails, the surface of his skin stripped by the harsh winds – the face of an outdoor worker. There wasn't much of Elsie about him, except for the eyes, bright blue, staring into Charles when he looked him up and down. Clear blue, almost icy.

"Hello Dad," he heard Elsie say and he stepped forward, a sudden need to be closer to her, to touch her and keep her safe as the man backed into the flagstone hallway leaving the door open for them; a silent invite to follow.


	24. Chapter 24

_I really enjoyed writing this chapter, it was nice to explore a new angle and tackle new characters. I hope you enjoy it too. Thank you for my lovely reviews and supportive comments._

* * *

 **Chapter 24**

 **Wednesday 7** **th** **September**

In his mind, Charles had expected the rooms to be cluttered. He'd pictured the insides being stuffed with family heirlooms, old furniture and forgotten knickknacks. It was the way his mother's had been when he'd come to clear it and move her into the nursing home.

In contrast, the farmhouse seemed starkly empty and so very cold, chilled almost, like ice should be growing out of the walls. And then he thought of how long it had been absent of a mother's touch. Of the family that were once so happy there.

He followed Elsie in through the large oak door, closed it behind him and strode to keep up with her as they headed down the hall. They emerged in the kitchen; there was a large empty fireplace, an ancient looking kitchen table, dishes piled in the sink. Elsie was taking off her coat and he shivered at the thought; it was freezing in there.

"Didn't know what time you'd be here," the man said and Charles looked to his back, watching as he lifted the kettle and forced it under the water faucet.

"We didn't arrange a time," Elsie said, and she glanced over to Charles. "Dad, this is Charles Carson, I told you about him," she stated. "This is my father, Douglas."

The older man turned, making his way over to the table, he pulled out a chair and Charles thought he was going to sit, but instead he leant on the back of it and stuck out a large, chapped hand.

"Good to meet you," Douglas said.

Charles quickly righted himself and returned the handshake, "And you." The hand he held felt dry, the skin wrinkled and cold.

"It's freezing in here Dad," Elsie said, "why haven't you got the fire lit?"

"Argh, can't be arsed when it's just me."

"Where's Becky?"

"Her group, be back this afternoon."

She bent before the fire, pulling out a basket of old papers and rolling up her sleeves.

"You're dressed too fancy in your stuff to be messing with that."

"I can remember how to make a fire," she said, ignoring his comments. "Where's the logs?"

"None chopped. Do you have sugar?" he asked, pointing a teaspoon at Charles.

For some reason Charles felt like a little boy again, intimidated by the other man in the room; there was no reason to be; he wasn't physically imposing, and Charles suspected he could probably outdo him in terms of intelligence and culture – but still, there was a link to Elsie that he had, things he knew about her, that Charles never could and he felt rather on the outside at present.

"Sweetheart," he heard Elsie say and looked over to her, noticing the raised eyebrows of her father as he watched them.

"Yeah?"

"Would you chop some logs if I showed you where they are?"

"He's in shiny shoes," Douglas pointed out.

"Dad."

"Sugar?"

Charles felt his mind swing about; he looked at Douglas, "No to sugar." Then at Elsie, "Yes, I'll chop logs. Show me."

* * *

She left him outside with a plastic tub, a few rustic looking logs and a rusty axe. He'd always had a fairly decent aim though and was still strong. It took him minutes and he had enough for the fire. He filled the tub and carried it back inside, hearing the mumbled conversation between father and daughter as he made his way down the short hall.

"Bit different for you, ain't he? Older? Rich?" He heard Douglas say.

"He isn't rich, not like that, not like you think. Sit down, drink your tea."

There was the creaking of a chair and a heavy sigh, "Didn't expect you to bring him, truth be told."

"Why?"

"You said his name a few weeks back, when you were going abroad, didn't think he'd still be in the picture."

"Please don't say things like that."

"I'm only going on past experience."

"He's different."

"I already pointed that out – older, richer."

"He isn't rich, good god Dad."

"Well, snobby then, well-to-do, his accent is…"

Charles stood outside the door listening, feeling the tips of his ears redden as they spoke.

"Don't insult him, please."

"What am I going to say?"

Elsie sighed, "I know how you can be."

"He got kids?"

Elsie hesitated, "No, he hasn't. Never been married."

"That means nothing these days, married or not, kiddies appear. You could've had em, would've had grandkids by now perhaps."

"Bloody hell."

"It's true, Joe's got three children and four granwhatsits."

"Good for him," she snapped, then paused. "Dad, really, I'm happy for Joe, I always have been. But it isn't my life."

"We all know that."

"Can we not do this? Just, for today, not talk about this. We have other things to discuss."

Charles pushed open the door and both faces turned to him as he carried in the tub.

"All done," he said, placing it down beside the fire. "What me to finish this?"

Elsie touched his back, "Please," and he knelt and set to finishing off what she'd started. Once there was a decent flame he took a seat at the table and drunk his lukewarm tea.

"What do you do, Charles? Because she's never said."

"You've never asked." Elsie was standing at the sink, filling it with water from the kettle. "No hot water," she explained to Charles, "because the fires haven't been lit so the boiler hasn't been on."

"Don't start with that."

"You need to have a hot bath," she said, "and Becky does too."

"She doesn't go without, don't come here judg–,"

"Butler," Charles said quickly, "Douglas, I was a butler. And now I run a company."

Douglas frowned then nodded, "Didn't know they still existed."

"Some, exclusive now though. Erm, not many of us, we're hired out." He mumbled.

"Rich folk no doubt." He glanced at Elsie. "Call me Doug. What's the company you run?"

"Same business, only now I'm the one training and hiring them out."

"Money in that, is there? Who would've thought."

"Dad, stop talking about money."

"What you're here for, ain't it? To size it up, tell me I ain't making any brass. Sell this out from under me."

"You know I'd never do any of that without your consent. And, really, let's not talk of that today. I want to just see you, see how you are. I've been worried, Aunt Jan said you've had flu for weeks."

"Always been one to exaggerate."

"No wonder you're ill with the state of this place. When the water's warmed through I want you to take a bath," she instructed as she washed the dishes. "And Charles and I are going to go around the house Dad, we're not being nosey, before you start, I just want to see the radiators are working and such. If they aren't I'll get someone here to look at it."

"It's the electricity that's the issue."

"I told you to upgrade the wiring at least ten years ago."

"Don't have the money for it."

"I would pay."

He waved his hand dismissing her, "Not having them dig my walls out. All that mess for what?"

"Electricity that works and won't kill you when you flick a switch."

Charles smirked and Douglas looked up at him; a slow knowing smile on his face.

"Always like this," the older man said, his accent strong as he hitched a thumb over his shoulder and towards his daughter, "our Elsie. Mind like her mam, fast, sharp. Never misses a beat. But then I suspect you know that young man."

Charles folded his hands together on the table, "Yes, I do."

"How long you and 'er been…?"

"I am still here, you know," Elsie said as she refilled the kettle and rinsed the teapot.

"All year, we met New Year's Eve."

Douglas' eyes widened, "You must be doing somet right then, she never keeps em around for long."

"Daaad…"

"Tell me I'm telling lies," when she didn't respond he continued. "I've had boots longer than she's had men."

"Please," Elsie rolled her eyes, putting two mugs of tea in front of them. "I feel like I'm fourteen again."

"Birthday soon," Douglas said, keeping his eyes away from his daughter's face.

Elsie seemed genuinely surprised that he'd brought it up and she looked over his head towards Charles.

"I want to spoil her," Charles admitted, holding her gaze, "She's not really…"

"Hates surprises," Douglas interjected, getting to his feet and poking at the fire. "There's no food in, if you're thinking of hanging about."

Elsie licked her lips, "We'll go shopping later, after we've gone around the house."

"What are you snooping about for?"

"I told you, I want to…" she straightened up, pulling her cardigan around her. "Look, honestly, I think the place looks… well, it looks like it needs a freshen up. It needs work."

"It's fine."

"There's damp in that corner, Dad. It needs painting for one and –,"

"Then paint it."

"–And builders I think, some damp treatment. Don't get defensive."

"Don't take over."

"How am I taking over?"

"You've not been here for years, then you march in and…"

"I didn't march anywhere."

"You drag your latest boyfriend here."

"Oh god."

"Pointing out our faults. My faults. Turning up in your smart car and flashing off…"

"Why can't you just be happy that I've achieved something? That I managed to do something for myself? That I have my own money, my own house?"

"All you ever wanted, and now you've got it. Made you happy has it?"

There was an ugly silence in the room that Charles wasn't quite sure how to breach; the argument – snapped lines loaded with meaning – had come from nowhere and his chest felt tight at it. He swallowed, looked to Elsie but she turned away from him, staring out of the window.

"I've got work to do," Douglas stated, taking his coat from the back of a chair. "Nice to meet you, Charles. Good luck."

Charles didn't respond, he was confused by it all; 'Good luck', what the hell did that mean?

He got up when the front door shut and moved to stand behind Elsie, watching Douglas from over her shoulder as he got into his Land Rover and disappeared down the road.

Elsie turned, clearly not realising Charles was so close, she jerked back a little, her arms still folded protectively over her chest.

"So, that's that," she said, "my Dad."

"What did he mean? Good luck?"

She shrugged, "With life, maybe. With me, probably." She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I'll leave some money."

"We're going?"

"It's what he meant for us to do."

"Hang on, that's it? We leave?"

"Don't judge me too."

She made a move to past him but he grabbed her waist, holding her still, "Elsie. I would never do that." He squeezed her hips, "Never."

Her face crumpled momentarily as she looked up at him, "It's always so hard."

"That doesn't mean you walk away," he said softly, "if it was an argument with me would you just walk away?"

A slight smile tugged at her lips and she shook her head, "No."

"Why not?"

"I know you love me," she said honestly.

That small line filled him with sadness and he sighed, "He does love you, believe me."

"You'd have a hard time finding evidence."

"I don't think so," he let go of her waist and instead took hold of her hand, leading her back out into the hall. "See here." He pointed at a large painting on the wall, faded and dark in the shadow of the hall.

"Oh my god, I'd forgotten this." She let go of him, standing before the painting on her tiptoes and looking up at it, "My mother painted this." She scrutinised it, "It needs cleaning."

"You and Becky?"

"Yes," she said softly, "he could've kept this here because of mother."

"Or because he loves both his daughters."

"Or that he simply forgot it was on the wall," she turned back to him. "It's like visiting with a second conscience."

He raised his eyebrows, "Shall we get on with the task then and stop moping?"

* * *

Two hours later they had an inventory of the house. They'd gone room to room making notes on the work that needed doing; some had taken longer than others, some held more memories than others. She'd lingered in her mother's room, it was almost untouched since her death and that made her cry. Charles had left her alone for a minute, made more tea and taken it up. By the time he'd returned she'd dried her eyes and had closed the door stating that it could remain as it was… for the moment.

At the kitchen table he'd made a more coherent list; Elsie had fetched her iPad from the car and she'd typed as he listed: rooms that just needed decorating, rooms that needed plastering. The entire place needed new carpets, and flooring downstairs – the mosaic tiles in the kitchen and hall needed a good cleaning. She'd need to employ somebody to do the electrics and plumbing and it was clear they needed specialist treatment for the damp that ran throughout the house.

"Gonna cost a fortune," she sighed when they'd finished, taking off her reading glasses and rubbing her nose. "I'll email this to Stan when we get back to the B&B tonight, ask him to give me a rough estimate."

"And then?"

"And then I guess I have the difficult conversation. Are we selling this place and moving them somewhere pleasant, safe? Or am I spending most of my savings renovating and hiring someone to work the farm when my father can't? Now that he can't, is what I should say." She glanced out of the window to the lightly falling rain, "He's too old for this. He should be playing darts down the pub of an afternoon; cards, dominoes – not working his guts out."

Charles sat back in his chair, rubbing his shoulder, "That bloody bed."

She smiled, "Seems a lifetime ago doesn't it, last night. Being relaxed."

"Squeaky beds."

That raised a smile and she got up from her chair, "Shall we go food shopping, I want there to be plenty in for them?"

"Are we going to have dinner here?"

She paused at that, "I didn't really… I'm not sure. Sitting here around the table and…" she shrugged.

"Well maybe a restaurant then, would he go out, would Becky?"

"God yes, she'd love it." She reached for her coat, "We can ask, let's find a supermarket first."

* * *

Charles walked when the day had softened, when it had curled in upon itself at the edges and the sky bloomed with orange clouds. He left Elsie trailing through the house again, she was in full-on decorating mode and sticking paint sample cards to walls. He wasn't sure what Douglas would make of it all but, at present, it wasn't his place to get involved. Instead, he left her to it and went to walk the perimeter of the building.

After, he headed to the fence he could see lining the main boundary and stood watching birds sweep back and forth across the fields. In a flash of memory, he thought of Valentine's Day, watching the pigeons, standing side-by-side with her on that ridiculous treasure hunt. His entire year was coloured by her.

"Who are you?" A voice suddenly champed behind him and he turned to see a lady pointing a long stick towards him.

He held his hands aloft, "Woah."

She jerked the stick forward, prodding his chest, "Who are you? On my land, my Daddy's land. I tell him. He'll have you."

"Wait, I'm…ow…"

"Becky," Elsie yelled from the house and the two people by the fence turned towards her voice, watching as she ran toward them, mud splattering her jeans as she ran. "Becky, wait."

"That's Elsie," the woman said softly, wonder in her tone.

Charles looked at her for the first time, searched her face for traces of the woman he loved so deeply.

"Elsie?"

"Hi baby," Elsie said as she got closer, climbing the slight grassy mound up to the fence. "Hi beautiful. You want to put the stick down and hug me?"

Becky looked back to the stranger, "This man has come to steal our chickens."

"No darling, he's here with me, he's my friend. Nothing to be scared of." Elsie held her arms out and Becky cautiously dropped the stick and approached, tentatively leaning in as Elsie pulled her into her embrace. "Oh I've missed you," she said, kissing her sister's head. "Your hair got so long. Look at it."

Becky pulled on the ends of the long braid she wore; her hair was dark, almost black, but her eyes were blue like her father and sister's.

"I want to get it cut smart, like the girls in the town, like yours, but Dada says we can't. He doesn't know how to do it and," she paused, breathless, touching the ends of Elsie's neatly styled hair. "Like yours. He says I need to save my pocket money."

"That's a good idea," Elsie said, hooking her arm through Becky's. "Maybe I can take you to the hairdressers whilst I'm here. Would you like that?"

Becky nodded, "Don't let them use scissors though, got to be careful with scissors." She said knowingly.

"I'll be there, nothing bad will happen. Now, would you like to meet my friend?"

Becky turned suspiciously.

"This is Charles, and he's a very dear friend of mine." She looked to Charles' face, "More than a friend, my very special friend."

Becky bit down on her bottom lip and it made Charles smile; she was younger and her features different in many ways, but she was clearly Elsie's sibling.

"Do you love him?" Becky asked abruptly.

" _Oh_ …I do," Elsie said, surprised at the question.

"I saw it on television, people are always in love, and in films and books." She pulled a tattered Mills and Boon from the pocket of her coat, "In here too."

"Oh, why are you reading this?" Elsie took the book from her, scanning the cover and laughing.

"Do you share a bedroom?" Becky asked and then sniggered. "In the book they…"

"That's enough of that darling, I don't know why Dad is letting you read this. We'll go the bookshop whilst we're in town too, get something new to read. I saw there's a new Winnie-the-Pooh, he gets a penguin as a friend."

"We used to read those together. Pooh Bear."

"I know. We could get that. And maybe, _maybe_ …a new dress?"

"Oh yes," Becky's eyes lit up and she draped her arm around her sister's shoulders, leading her down towards the house; Charles forgotten. "And shoes? Can I have some new shoes, red ones? I've seen them in Maggie's shop, she let me try them on."

"If that's what you want, then of course."

* * *

"How would you feel about eating out tonight?" Elsie asked whilst her father rinsed the oil from his hands. "I'll pay, we can drive into town, away from the village."

"Elsie's got that big car, Da," Becky said, warming her behind by the fire, swinging it back and forth.

"I saw."

"Would you like to go out Becks, have dinner…tea somewhere?"

Becky nodded, then suddenly gasped, "Ah Elsie, can we have Chinese? I love Chinese and Dada never takes me. Sometimes Aunty Jan does and then I have chicken with crispy stuff on and that illuminous sauce and rice and carrots and broccoli." She counted the list on her fingers.

"What about Prawn Toast?" Charles asked, eager to win over the childlike woman.

"I'm not sure," Becky said.

"Maybe you could try them, dip them in the sauce."

"I like to dip; I like to dip chips in my sauce too." She grinned.

"Dad?" Elsie asked hopefully. "The hot water is on, you could have a shower and I could ring for a table."

He stared at Becky, turning his tongue over in his mouth as he thought about it. "Right. Yes. Not too late mind. She helps at that riding thing in the morning. With the kids."

Becky clapped her hands, "What should I wear?"

"We can go and look upstairs if you like, I'll help." Elsie suggested.

"I like this cardigan," Becky said, running her hand over the collar of Elsie's cashmere cardigan where it hung over the chair. "It's soft, like a kitten."

 _It was expensive too_ , Elsie thought, but still, she would never deny her little sister a thing. "Then you can wear that."

"And makeup? Da," she said, her tone pleading as she turned her attention to her father, "can I wear some? Can Elsie do it?"

Douglas turned from the sink, wiping his hands on a towel and giving a small nod of his head. "Go wash your face then, get changed." Becky sloped off upstairs, carrying Elsie's cardigan with her. "You're here one day and she's after being a fashion model."

"She's a girl Dad, a woman, she wants what other women want – to dress nice, look pretty. Why are you letting her read those trashy romance books? She'll get the wrong idea."

"She's always got her head in the clouds, and you try stop her doing what she wants. She's like my other kid – does what the hell she wants regardless of others." He threw the towel down, "Best get myself ready, madam will be wanting to get off."

As she bit down hard on her tongue to stifle any reply she might have had, Elsie turned to the fire, making sure the guard was in place.

Charles tapped his fingers on the surface of the old oak table, watching her back for barely five seconds before he made his way around to her – his hands on her hips.

She leant back against him, closing her eyes; the warmth of the fire before her, the warmth of Charles behind. He slid his hands around to her stomach, enveloping her and kissing the side of her head.

"It'll be okay," he whispered by her ear. "Just keep going."

She pressed her hands over his and just enjoyed the brief, still moment.

"What are you going to wear, if she's in your cardigan?"

"Oh god," she smiled, "I hadn't thought." She turned in his arms, her hands resting on his shoulders, "Have I anything in the car?"

"I'll pop and look; you going to ring this restaurant?"

She nodded, lifting her face up until he kissed her.

"Love you," she whispered between kisses. "Have I said thank you?"

"No need to – that's what I do."

"Do you understand, now," she asked, her eyes narrow. "Why I don't speak of them much, why my friends… how could they understand? Becky's like a child."

"Not one of your friends would judge you for that."

She shrugged, "Maybe. But it changes things, it colours things. Especially with how he and I are, not like normal relationships."

Charles' eyebrows rose, "You show me what qualifies as _normal_. This is you, darling, so it's part of our life. My mother's hardly easy, everyone has –,"

"Shit." She jumped in, "Everyone has all kinds of shit going on."

"Such a pleasant turn of phrase from such a beautiful mouth," he kissed her gently. "I'll go search the boot. Ring the restaurant, let's make it a enjoyable night."

* * *

"The car is really cool," Becky enthused, jumping down to the pavement. "Thanks for letting me sit in the front."

"No problems," Charles said – it wasn't awkward _at all_ sitting in the back with Douglas. He stretched his legs shook out the creases from his trousers.

"The seats are warm Dada," Becky said, "we should get those you know. It's freezing in the winter, bitter cold Aunt Jan said."

"Does Aunt Jan still do dinner for you?" Elsie asked and she saw Douglas cast her a look and wished she hadn't said anything.

"Yep, but she's rubbish at mash, it always has lumps in it. But don't tell her," Becky said urgently, "Dada remashes it, but we aren't to tell her."

"Top secret," Elsie smiled, passing Charles as he held open the restaurant door for them.

"Good evening," the owner said, greeting them at the door. "Booking?"

"Yes, hi, it's for Ms Hughes. I asked for a table window, if possible, it's good for my sister."

"Yes, we have one for you. This way."

Elsie felt Becky's hand touch hers, seeking support in an unfamiliar environment. How easy they sunk back into their roles; Elsie the protector, shouting at boys in the playground who dare mock her sibling's speech issues or simple joys. She wished she lived closer, it was probably the only real regret she had about leaving home, moving to England – leaving Becky.

Just when she felt tears prickle she heard Becky gasp in delight at the fish tank near their table and was instantly distracted from her melancholy.

* * *

"You do know she's got issues, don't you?" Douglas said, swirling the dregs of beer in his glass before swallowing it in one elongated gulp.

Charles sucked the white wine between his teeth, narrowing his eyes, "Who? Be…?"

"Elsie." He pointed his glass towards Charles, "She's the real issue, the er one with issues."

Silently, Charles lifted his chin, looked Douglas straight in the eye and kept his gaze steady and clear.

"She's got trust issues, for one. Commitment issues – that's probably her biggest, what do you call it? Her biggest bugbear, is that it?"

Charles shook his head, "No, it isn't. And I disagree."

"Do you?"

"Of course," Charles drank more of his wine, refilled both his glass and Elsie's. "Of course I do. She's committed to _me_."

"At present." Douglas said into an empty glass. He lifted his left hand and waved over to the waiter, indicating that he wanted another pint. "Sex issues." He said openly, halfway drunk already, "she uses it as an escape, like a kind of…"

Charles sat forward to interrupt.

"No, let me finish. I know her you see. I've known her since the day she screeched her way into the world and lay in my arms curling her pinked up fist around my index finger. I know her. She uses sex to avoid anything deeper. And that, well, that's her major mess up."

"You do realise you're talking about your daughter, don't you? And…" Charles shook his head, "Christ, the woman I love. _Dearly_ love."

"So you disagree with that too?"

"Perhaps in the past," he shrugged, "not now. Not with me."

Douglas sat back in his chair as the waiter brought over another beer, "I'll admit she's stuck with you longer than most. Which is an achievement in itself. You're older too, well, that's not what I mean – our Elsie's been known to shag any age. What I mean is you're _her_ age, and that's a turn up."

"I don't feel comfortable doing this, if she knew what you were saying –,"

"Oh she knows. She knows what I think. We don't have secrets, she and I, we don't hold back."

"Maybe the both of you should then, every now and then. Sometimes it's kinder not to say certain things – spare feelings, maintain the status quo."

"Lying."

"I call it caring for the other person enough not to damage them."

"You think she's damaged then?" Douglas took another gulp of beer.

"You know I didn't say that."

"And you think I don't love her. Which is wrong…"

"No, I think you do love her, very much. As she does you. I think the issue is neither of you have a bloody idea about how to say sorry and move on."

Douglas smiled, the kind of low smile that was nothing more than a trembling of the lips; a nerve twitching to the left corner of his lower lip.

Charles watched him carefully; he felt decidedly uncomfortable, like his skin was prickling up, like there was something going on he which he wasn't privy to.

He was glad when Elsie returned from the bathroom, laughing with Becky as they hooked arms and made their way back to the table. Clearly she was in a good mood as when she reached him she slid her hand along his shoulders and kissed his cheek before she sat down.

"Alright?" She whispered, and he pushed his wine glass away – he would be driving home.

"Yes," he smiled, squeezing her hand when it continued its journey down his arm and rested on the back of his fingers. "Ready for the mains."

"Can we have some more of that stuff?" Becky said, pointing at the platter in the middle of the table. "I liked those little bits of things."

"Like mum," Elsie said, "remember her favourite meals were leftovers – like after Christmas?"

Douglas nodded, "Boxing day bits," he took another gulp of beer.

"Those Scotch eggs she made…" Elsie sighed in delight.

"Love Scotch eggs," Charles nudged Elsie's elbow on the table, "when you gonna make me some?"

She turned her face to his, leaning close to him, "I'll make you some, if you want."

"And me," Becky chirped in. "Not just Mr Carson."

"You can call me Charles," he said, his voice so serious it made Elsie giggle. "What?" He directed at her.

"Nothing," she smiled over her glass.

"I like Carson," Becky said, "can I use that?"

"Just Carson?"

"Yep, like just Becky. Not Rebecca Hughes. That's my full proper real name, you know."

"Your Sunday name," he said.

"No, I can use it every day. But I prefer Becky."

Elsie and Douglas laughed; it took Charles a moment but soon he laughed too.

"Carson it is," he said. "Shall we order some more of these starters then?"

"Yes please, those crispy things I like, and the toast with prawns in, and chicken on sticks."

Charles smiled to himself; she'd been won over by the prawn toast.

"All of it then," Elsie said, beckoning to a waiter. "You won't want your main."

"But I do though. I'll fit it all in."

"She will," Douglas agreed.

* * *

Elsie hummed in pleasure as she pressed her chest against Charles'. She shifted her leg, pushed her thigh against his, used her weight to roll him back a little, humming in pleasure again as his large hands skimmed over the base of her back.

"Darling…" he murmured against her lips; her kisses sweetly demanding.

"Mmm, do you want…" she smiled as they kissed, "…me to move?"

"No," his hands were on her hips now, balancing her as she moved on top of him. He chuckled, looking up to her face, "Insistent."

"Make the most of it whilst I have the energy," she pushed herself to her knees and took hold of the t-shirt she was wearing, quickly taking it off and throwing it aside.

His hands glided from her hips over her belly, up to her breasts, circling beneath them with his thumbs, his eyes sparkling as he did so.

"It was a nice evening," he noted, watching as she shifted her legs and sat astride him.

"A-ha," she reached for his hands, took them from her body, folded her fingers with his and pushed his hands back, bent his arms, leant forward until her mouth was by his again.

The bed squeaked and they both laughed.

"Oh to be home," she whispered, her hair falling forward and filling his face as she kissed him. "Nice, comfy bed."

"Elsie," he said, brushing her hair back, one hand moving down to her bottom, the pads of his fingers tapping against it.

"Yes?"

"Something…" his mouth felt dry. "Your father said something odd…awkward."

"Oh?" She sat up again, her hands resting on his chest. "Let me guess, something about me?"

He nodded, hands on her hips again, eager to offer comfort as they spoke of this.

"Perhaps that I, hm, can't commit? I er," she laughed harshly, "I use sex as a cover up? I'm quite the vixen, even at my age."

Charles' eyes were wide as she spoke, "You already know this?"

"You're surprised?"

"God yes, why the hell…?"

"My father and I have an odd relationship, perhaps," she swallowed, "perhaps that's how you see it. We yell things at each other, or we have done, in the past. Insults, it's not just him, I give it back to him."

"I said before, I think you're the same."

"Of course. I don't need no therapist to explain it to me, it's why we can't forgive each other, I know that. Both too bloody stubborn."

"I'm not sure it's healthy."

"Nobody ever said I was. Didn't I warn you of that, way back in January? Not to get involved with me."

He pursed his lips momentarily, "You were a different person to me then."

"Like a beautiful enigma?" she preened.

"Don't make jokes, I'm trying to be serious."

"I'm sitting naked on top of you – proving my father's point, perhaps."

"I love you," he said, his tone flat, "this isn't just –,"

"I know, we're way past that" she smiled, "I'm just joking. I'm just being… I'm avoiding talking about it because I don't want to do serious stuff now. It was a nice evening, as nice as things can be with my father, I enjoyed being with Becky, I enjoyed seeing you getting to know her." She leant forward again and kissing him gently, "I love you too. More than I ever thought was possible. So my father can say what he likes, but we're fine… aren't we?"

"She asks as she presses her perfect breasts against my chest."

Laughing she sat back, covering her chest, "I'll be demure."

He pulled her back down, twisted them over so he was leaning over her, "We're fine. Wonderful." He kissed her, "Solid."

"Good. I did say, this morning, that whatever was said…"

"I know, I know. I didn't expect it to come like that."

"Expect the unexpected with him."

"Just like with you." He shook his head, "Always a surprise. What will tomorrow bring?"

"An argument I'm guessing, I need to tackle him about the house. And he wasn't pleased about the paint samples."

"You and the paint, you've only just done that secret work at your house."

"We'll get to that, another time." She slid her hands up into his hair, "Now stop talking and let's make love."

He rolled his eyes, "The things I'm forced to do."

* * *

 **Thursday 8** **th** **September**

"We are not painting it pink," Douglas said, scratching his chair against the terracotta tiles as he yanked it back, "end of conversation." He plonked himself down, tea spilling over the edges of the mug as he did so. "No pink."

"Dada…" Becky complained, her feet stamping on the floor beneath the table. "Just a bit."

"Pink is rather bright for the kitchen sweetie," Elsie said, buttering toast and laying it on plates. "For your room, fine. Eggs done?"

Charles nodded, lifting the pan from the heat and spooning scrambled eggs onto the plates.

"When she said she was taking me out for breakfast, I didn't think I'd be cooking it." His eyes flashed as he looked at her and she gave him a smile, carrying two plates to the table.

"Nothing like fresh farm eggs, nothing better."

"Quite a turn up, Elsie being up early enough to make anyone's breakfast," Douglas lifted his fork and started to eat.

"Bugger off, I was always up at the crack of dawn here, chores before school, remember?"

Becky giggled, covering her mouth as she chewed, "Elsie said bugger off."

"She did indeed," Douglas replied.

"Sorry Becky," Elsie sat beside her, "sorry _Father_."

"Your mouth always did get you into trouble."

"I'm intrigued by this," Charles took a seat at the end of the table, across from Douglas, "what was she like, as a child?"

"Fast," Elsie said, "and skinny, like a rake."

"That's true, she used to run over that there field fast as a midnight hare. And bright, smarter than the rest of the runts round here."

"Even though doing schoolwork at home was banned, remember that Dad? Or even going to school."

"Mm," he grumbled into his mug, "waste of time."

"Clearly, look what good it did me."

"Made you too damn smart," he snorted, "too smart for –,"

" – my own good, I know, I remember that too."

Charles watched the exchange, "So different, my parents sent me to school even if I was half dead, I think I had about three days off in five years. This is interesting to me, farm life."

Douglas threw down his fork, "Quaint, is it?"

"Dad, that's not what he said, you don't have to be so touchy."

"Becky," Douglas snapped, "did you feed the dogs yet? And you've got that class, don't go turning up late or they won't pay you."

She picked up her mug as she got to her feet, draining her tea.

"Let her finish her breakfast with us, Dad, really, you don't need –,"

"What I have to say she doesn't need to hear," he said lowly.

"I didn't mean to offend," Charles said, watching Becky wind a scarf around her throat; she was still wearing the cardigan Elsie had given her the night before.

"Will you still be here later, Elsie?" She asked, "For tea?"

Elsie swallowed, "We can go into the town, if you like, I did promise I'd take you shopping, if Dad doesn't mind."

Douglas made a grumbling noise in the back of his throat but nodded his head, "Fine."

"Can we have cake?"

"Of course we can darling, anything you like."

Becky grinned, happily placated, and scooted off out of the kitchen.

"Mr Hughes," Charles started but Elsie held her hand up to stop him, rising from her seat at the same time as her father.

"Time you two left I think. Bringing all this… you know she's no good with disruption, needs her routine or she gets all muddled up and upset."

"I'm not here to muddle her up, I'm here to help."

"Who needs help?"

"You do. If we're going to be blunt, which we usually are with each other…"

"Like implying I fucked up your education you mean?"

She grimaced, and Charles shrank back in his seat watching them yell at each other over the table.

"No, who cares about that now? What does it matter?"

"Clearly it matters to him, making accusations."

"That's not what –," Charles started.

"That's not what he was doing, Dad, he was just comparing our lives, it's what people do when they interact."

"There's that tone again, that god damn tone."

"I'm not being condescending; I'm speaking my mind. And yes, let's be honest about that, I was never allowed to was I, as a child? Told it was being cheeky, speaking my mind."

"Oh for chrissake!" Douglas slammed his hands on the table but Elsie's voice only got stronger.

"Could I have passed my exams and gone to University? Maybe. But I didn't and that's that. We didn't know any different really, did we, than working the land and having babies? And that's what really pisses you off about me because I didn't stick to your plan and I got out and I did something you know nothing about."

Douglas nodded his head, turning his tongue over in his mouth, "And broke your mother's heart, that's what you did."

"And would you let me ever forget it?" She said breathlessly, "Was I ever able to come home and just have you the tiniest little bit proud of me?"

"What did we have to feel proud of you for? Opening your legs for the first silver tongued bastard to show you some interest."

Elsie closed her eyes and Charles got to his feet, "That's uncalled for."

"Stay out of this," Douglas said, waving a hand at him.

"I won't let you talk to her like that."

"He's right," Elsie said, "stay out of it… please." She added softly. "Look Dad, you know I'll help as much as I can with the farm but this can't go on."

Douglas turned from her, pulling his coat from the hook on the back of the kitchen door.

"Don't ignore me. We need to talk about this honestly, plainly. You can't afford this; you can't afford the farm anymore."

"I'll get by."

"I've been supplementing you for years, we both know that, and it can't go on because I can't afford it. I'm having to send more and more…"

"Then don't bother with us, go back to living your fancy life and forget about it. We'll manage."

"What the hell kind of life do you think I'm living? I'm working Dad, just like you, I work every day. I'm not flamboyant or extravagant but I am self-sufficient."

Charles moved behind her, standing by the fire and watching the old man hunched by the door; something about him was broken, and he was almost rigid with fear, Charles could see that now.

"You need to listen to me," Elsie added, her tone causing Douglas to look directly at her. "I will help in any way I can but you need to talk to me like two normal adults. Because this isn't working anymore so we either need to sell up, buy you a nice place somewhere that leaves you with enough left over from the sale of this place and the land to keep you comfortable and Becky too. If you want me to just sell off some of the land or look into renting out some of the buildings," she shrugged, "I can do that. But if you want to keep it," she sighed, "well it needs renovating for a start, the roof needs doing, every room needs tidying and painting and there's damp…" she felt her throat close up, "your bedroom and Becky's are full of damp, Dad, and you can't live like that. You're too old, I'm sorry to be plain speaking but you can't, and I don't think hiring staff to work the place will ever be cost effective."

"You never did like the farm."

"I have nothing against the farm, I never had."

"Should've been yours by now, running this, you should have been doing it with –,"

"Please don't start that, it's years ago, a lifetime ago. I'm a different person."

He really looked at her then, eyes fixed on hers, "Aye, 'appen you are."

"Dad," her voice was soft. "You need to help me out here; I can't stay forever."

"Nobody asked you to come." He pulled his hat on, "Nobody's asking you to stay."

She closed her eyes, counted to ten in her mind.

"I'm going to work. If you're taking her out she'll be back for two, you can pick her up then."

"Right," Elsie said stoically. "I'll be here."

* * *

"It's funny isn't it?"

"What is?" Charles stopped still for a moment, catching his breath, looking up to where Elsie still walked ahead of him.

"How people deal with death in different ways." Her voice trailed back down the hill towards him.

"I wouldn't use the word 'funny'."

"You know what I mean, odd, or maybe not odd, maybe interesting. Maybe eye-opening."

She paused at the top of the hill, drawing in the frosty air – Autumn was here, summer gone. Charles was slightly behind her, this was her terrain and he let her lead. He watched how she stood with her hands on her hips looking out at the view, and for a second he saw her as a girl – whippet thin and long hair blowing in the breeze. Those intense blue eyes; sometimes dark like an Autumn night, sometimes nothing but blue sky.

"People come up here to have sex. Or used to."

He caught her up, stood beside her, his elbow touching her arm.

"That's rather a change of topic."

She shrugged, "Just remembered." She pointed out a spot, lower down the hill behind an arrangement of rocks. "There, you see. People would bring blankets; I wonder if they still do. It was always cold up here. That hasn't changed."

"Did you?"

"What? Change?"

"No, sex."

She laughed, "Not up here, no. Everyone knew about it, peeping ground, d'ya see?"

"Yes." He swallowed, understanding the implications of it – her sex was secret, not teenagers discovering it together. How innocent she must've been then. Pure. Before… well, before.

"I wish I'd met you when I was seventeen," he suddenly said. "I was so fit then, used to run for the school team. I'd run almost every day."

"And you think that would've impressed me when you were seventeen and I would've been…ooh, twelve?!" She teased.

"Oh yes, I'd forgotten that." He smiled as she hooked her arm through his. "Well, maybe when you were seventeen and I was twenty-two, would that still be so odd?"

"Maybe. But a damn sight better than the older man I did end up with." She shrugged and the momentary lightness was gone.

"Why are you thinking about death? Your father's not –,"

"No. Well, not yet, anyhow, so the Doctor says. I rang him the other day, Dad's GP. Says he needs to slow down, cut back, which I already knew." She sighed, "I just keep thinking about it. That's so morbid, isn't it? Your accident and then him being ill and I can't seem to… I keep thinking about when Reggie died."

He nodded, "Isobel's husband. I remember him, lovely man."

"He really was. It was a shock when he was just gone, just like that, sudden. Maybe that's harder than the, the build-up, you know. Preparation." She set off again, and Charles fell into step with her.

"It is beautiful up here, I can understand why you walked here as a teenager."

"Escape, that's what it was. I'd come up here to read."

They were silent then, walking, arms linked, content to be together, mulling over the events of the morning.

"Noticed a picture this morning, you, I'm guessing. Pretty young thing – though your hair is lighter."

"Where?"

"Where what?"

"The picture."

"Oh. On the mantelpiece in the kitchen. It's just a small one in an old frame and your hair is much lighter."

"I had discovered hair dye."

"I see. Your Dad, is it, the man in the picture with you?"

She breathed deeply, "Yes, it was his birthday, we were down the pub celebrating – quiz night and we won."

"You're smiling, laughing."

"A-ha."

"And he looks so proud."

She sucked on her bottom lip, turning her face away from him.

"Wasn't he, Elsie?"

"Perhaps. It was before the 'fall'. Eve before the apple."

"Was it going on, by then? Were you… erm, carrying on with _him_?"

"Carrying on?" She tried to chuckle but it came out all wrong, strangled and tight. "You can be blunt Charles; you can ask was he fucking me by then?"

"Elsie," he admonished, "I'd rather not use such language in relation to you."

"Well, would you rather we talk of me making love with the old farmer up the road?"

He reflected on it, "No, not that neither. _Carrying on_ seems a safer bet."

"Lord above Charles," she squeezed his arm, stopping and turning to face him with a smile on her face; her cheeks were flushed from the cold and her eyes shone as she looked at him. "It was before anybody knew but yes, by then it was already happening. Do you want to talk about it? Ask me more?"

"Not really, no. Not right now."

"Good."

"He still lives here, around here?"

She nodded.

"And married and… that lasted?"

"Nobody knew except mum and dad. I thought you didn't want to talk about it."

"I don't."

"Good, I need to take my mind off things. Let's go back to our elaborate hotel room and I'll show you the best thing about Scotland in the afternoon."

"Don't do that," he said, his voice a whisper, but he held her tight against him. "Change the focus. We need to go back to the house, can't leave things like this with your father."

"He's in one of his moods now, could take days."

"We don't have that long."

"I don't mind," she said suddenly, "if you need to go home, I don't mind. To be honest, I'm rather embarrassed by it all. It's not how I wanted you to see my home, not that I'm surprised by any of it, but still."

"There's no need to be embarrassed about anything," he touched her hair, pressed his mouth to her forehead. "I just don't like to see you hurt."

"Am I hurt?"

"How can you not be? It shook me up, and I'm a big guy, but it shook me up, the way you two argue."

"You being a big guy means it shouldn't bother you?"

"Don't be like that, you know what I mean. I wouldn't blame you for feeling shaky or tearful."

She stepped back out of the tight embrace, his hands still resting gently on her upper arms, "I'm used to it."

"Maybe you shouldn't be, that's all I'm saying."

"I don't want you to dislike him; this isn't all him, this isn't who he is really."

He nodded, "Just like the woman you see sometimes back in York is not my mother, not who she really is. We accept these things because we're together."

"This isn't your responsibility though, all of this mess. You don't have to carry it or try to fix it. This is my problem."

"And I will help in any way I can. I'm not going to leave you," he kissed her forehead again and she shifted her head until her lips found his, sliding back into the warmth of his arms.

"What will you do, if he refuses to sell and move out?" He asked when they'd started to walk again.

"I'm not sure, actually, I'm hoping some revelation will come to me. Fixing the place up so it's really liveable again will cost me too much. I can only think I could maybe break it up, sell pieces off, leave him enough land to keep crops maybe, but then I think of the cost of hiring help for that and…" she groaned, "it's so complicated. I don't want to pour all of my money into it, but I can see it happening, me having to sell those properties I just bought."

"I could help, I have savings, I can help."

"I'd never ask that of you. Ever." She said quickly.

"But I could."

"No, no. I wouldn't even dream of – it isn't your responsibility. Not your family, you have enough of your own worries to deal with, not carrying my burdens too."

Charles suddenly stopped, realisation dawning on him as simply as turning on a light. He faced her, gripping her hands in his, "You do know one day I want to marry you, right?"

She felt her heart jolt and stop. The thought had never even occurred to her, not once in all those months together.

"Then what's mine will be yours because we _will_ be family, that's the plan, the ultimate goal. Where this is all heading. We both know that, right?"


	25. Chapter 25

_Hi all, I'm off work this week - hence the quicker update! Enjoy. x_

* * *

 **Chapter 25**

 **Thursday 8** **th** **September**

For long moments the sound of the wind travelling over the heath and birdsong winging somewhere in the distance filled the awkward silence.

Charles dare not breath. His mouth was still open from speaking the words, and his bottom lip was dry and calling out for him to lick it. Elsie blinked. Charles exhaled and waited for her response.

Her whole body seemed to sag with exhaustion and the weight of expectation; she rubbed at her forehead, brushed a hand over her errant hair.

"Oh fuck."

Whatever he'd expected it to be that certainly wasn't it. He opened his mouth to speak but found his chest starved of breath.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck," she repeated, her voice a whisper as she backed from his hands.

He turned from her, sucking in cold air until he felt his lungs would burst, "Christ," and rubbing a weary hand over his face. "That wasn't what I –,"

" – I never thought… Sorry, you go…on."

"No, no. Clearly I've said enough." He still faced away from her and she watched his broad shoulders shake.

"Oh no," she moved behind him, resting her hands on his upper arms, "no don't feel bad, I don't mean this negatively. I didn't mean."

"I shouldn't have said it. Stupid. Ridiculous timing." He grumbled, groaned, frustrated with himself. "Old fool."

"No," she said softly, holding him tighter. "You're not, and it was a…" she didn't know what to say. Her mind was whirring, chest thudding – this was all happening too fast and so unexpectedly and she couldn't quite string together a coherent thought let alone put it into words. "…it was a lovely gesture. But I'm still hoping he'll see sense and let me move him somewhere pleasant and…" she breathed deeply, pressed her chin against the back of his shoulder and sighed. "Oh Charles."

He reached back and patted her hand, "I do love you," he started, "and what I meant to say really was…"

She yanked back from him, "We should go. We've got to walk back and if we're late she'll panic, she does panic."

She set off walking, glanced back over her shoulder at him, watching as he stared resolutely at the scenery for a few more moments before turning and trailing behind her and her heart sank – she'd handled that badly… she didn't know how to handle it. It was something she hadn't prepared for.

* * *

Elsie turned the page of her magazine, shifted uncomfortably in her chair and glanced over the top of her glasses down the salon to where her sister was having her hair washed. She closed the magazine and smiled to herself as she watched Becky's feet move back and forth in time to the beat of the music playing lightly in the background.

Her eyes cast around the room and settled on a young girl laughing as she leant forward to look in the mirror.

"Do you think it looks too big?" The girl asked giggling and then swirling around in her chair to face a woman who sat beside Elsie on the couch by the window. "I don't want to topple over."

"The dress is that big it'll weigh you down," the girl's mother teased.

"Mum," the girl moaned, "does it look good though? I want to be able to see my neckline and the necklace…"

"It looks beautiful," Elsie interjected, "really beautiful. You're getting married?"

"Three weeks," the girl held up three fingers, one of which flashed a small diamond ring. "Sooo nervous it's ridiculous."

"They've been together since they were kids," her mother explained, "since you were what, fourteen?"

"What a total saddo!" The girl laughed and Elsie smiled.

"Not at all, if you're in love then you're in love. Enjoy it. I hope it all goes smoothly; the hair looks wonderful."

"Elsie!" Becky called as she traipsed from the sink and back to her chair, "come here," she waved her hand, "can you tell yet? Does the colour look different?"

"Mmm, I can't tell yet sweetie because it's wet," she rested her hands on Becky's shoulders and kissed the top of her head, smiling at her in the mirror. "Are you excited? Have you got your picture?"

"Yes, here," Becky said, pulling the hair magazine back into her lap, "this one."

"I think it looks fabulous."

"I'll be beautiful, like you."

"More so darling, you're always beautiful."

"Where's Carson?"

Elsie glanced over her shoulder to the window, "He went to get our coffees a while ago, didn't he?"

"I asked for milkshake. Strawberry."

"I know."

"Tell him."

"I will." She allowed the stylist to drape a cape around Becky's shoulders. "I'll give him a call."

"Don't go far," Becky gasped, "there's the scissors."

"I'll be right here, I'll sit right here next to you, let me just call Charles. One minute, I promise."

She rang his phone for a good thirty seconds but as she watched Becky jerking about in the chair nervously she hung up and took the seat next to her, taking hold of her hand.

"Now, let's talk about what we're going to do next. Shall we go get cake next or go look at these shoes you want?"

"Shoes please! But I'd still like some cake."

"We can do both."

"And can we still go look at dresses?"

"Of course darling, I promised." She watched the stylist cutting the first few inches off her sister's hair but kept her face neutral and calm, patting Becky's hand. "You should have your nails done too."

"Like yours? Yours are pink."

"Pale pink, very pale, but yes, they are. Would you like that?"

Becky nodded.

"We do nails here, upstairs." The stylist said to Elsie, "Other things too – eyebrows."

"What do they do to your eyebrows?" Becky asked.

"Tidy them up, like, they might pluck them – remember how I used to do mine when we were younger? With the tweezers?" Becky nodded. "Well, you can have other things done too – they can dye your eyebrows like you've just had your hair dyed, to cover the greys. And you can have them waxed or you could try threading – they use cotton for that, it can feel odd the first time."

"What do you have?"

"I like mine waxed." She looked up as the door opened, spontaneously breaking into a relieved smile as Charles walked in, laden with drinks. "Oh, he's back, my lovely man with caffeine."

"Sorry, was a terribly long queue."

"That's okay," she reached up to take her drink from him.

"And a strawberry milkshake for Miss. Becky," Charles said, setting it down in front of her. "Looking good already."

"What do you do to your eyebrows?" Becky asked, gazing into the mirror and scrutinising his reflection.

"Good lord, nothing. Why?"

"Yours are fluffy. Elsie has hers waxy."

"Waxed. But you can try threading if you like." Elsie said.

"Will you have it threaded too, Carson?"

"I don't know what that is, but my eyebrows aren't for playing games with." He settled himself on the couch with his coffee.

"Now, you've got to be brave," Becky said with authority, turning in her seat to look at him.

"Ooh, sit still babe, don't want the ends uneven." She glanced at Charles, "You could do it, try it, go with Becky as support."

Charles rolled his eyes, "I think not."

"Oh go on… make it worth your while."

He wasn't sure quite what she meant by that, but he held her gaze, took some comfort from the fact she was smiling at him – he hadn't buggered it all up quite yet.

"Ah! Look Elsie! My hair's gone!" Becky exploded, swinging around in her chair, "Look."

"It looks great," Elsie said, "you look wonderful."

"It does look good," Charles agreed.

"You think so, Carson?"

"Definitely, very nice." He winked at her, "How's that milkshake?"

"Very nice," she winked in response.

"Right, let's get it dry and styled and then we'll go upstairs," Elsie said. "I'm gonna nip upstairs and see if they can fit you two in –,"

"Er, I haven't agreed to anything." Charles asserted.

Elsie leant over him as she got to her feet, kissing his cheek, "Oh go on, for me."

* * *

"And so I got them both, see?" Becky said, "Because Elsie said they both looked pretty on me. And new boots for when I go help at Sally's farm with the horses and the kiddies who learn to ride. What did you buy, Carson?"

"Books," Charles said from the front of the car, twisting his neck slightly to look at Becky behind him, piles of bags beside her.

"Which kind? I like lovey ones, and you know, there's that other…" she pondered, looking out of the window, "make believe ones."

"Fantasy," Elsie supplied.

"Yes." Becky agreed. "I can see my hair in the reflection," she said, "and my eyebrows. Do you think they look good?"

"I think they look very good," Elsie said, flicking on the indicator and slowing to turn off the main road and onto the country lane. "And do you know what I was thinking?"

"What?"

"That maybe, if you'd like it, I could arrange for you to go back to that hairdressers every six weeks or so. I could make a standard booking for you and then you can go and keep having your hair done, if that's what you'd like." She glanced in her mirror to look at Becky, "I could arrange for Aunt Jan to go with you if you'd like, or maybe one of your friends from the centre."

"I would like that I think," Becky agreed, "Then my hair would always be pretty, like yours is. Elsie's hair was always pretty when we were little."

"Well, yours looks wonderful I think," Charles chipped in. "Very sophisticated."

Becky laughed, "I like how you say that word. Say again…soph…"

"Soph-is-ti-cated," Charles said grandly.

"Ah, I like this song," Becky yelled, pointing at the stereo, "Elsie turn it up, turn up the radio."

"I like this song too," Elsie agreed, glancing to Charles' stricken face – he wasn't really one for popular music.

" _Hello_ ," Becky sang, "you can sing Carson, it's very deep," she giggled then repeated in a very low tone, " _Hello_."

"Do you know, it's like having Adele in the car with us," Elsie said.

"You sing too Elsie, it's the big bit."

"Yes," Charles said, smirking at her, "go on Elsie, sing the big bit."

"I can bloody well sing, I'll have you know," she shook her head and joined in with Becky, both too loud and slightly shaky but filling the car.

" _I must have called a thousand times_

 _To tell you I'm sorry for everything that I've done…"_

Becky continued to sing, looking out of the car window and singing to the view she knew so well. Elsie paused, her hand reaching out to pat Charles' leg; she suddenly thought of his broad, globed shoulders shaking up there on the moorland. The oddly phrased words, and, more importantly, the sentiment behind it.

She sucked in a tight breath, gripped the steering wheel with both hands and pulled onto the gravelled track that led down to the family farm.

"We're home," Becky announced, "I want to show Dada," she placed her hand on the door handle, all set to jump out as soon as Elsie stopped. "And hang my dresses in the wardrobe."

"I'll carry the bags," Charles said, "you go in and show him."

The sky was darkening, not just the hour but the threat of early evening rain. Yet Charles felt almost gleeful as he watched Becky jump down from the car and race across to the house, proudly showing off her hair as she twirled in front of the door and smiled back at them.

"She's so happy," Elsie said, "such a simple thing has made her so happy."

"You have," he tilted his head towards her, "you have the power to do that. Don't you know." He opened the car door and got out before she could reply; leaving the words hanging in her mouth.

She watched him, laden with bags, make his way across to the farmhouse. Never, not once in her time away from home, had she ever imagined bringing a man home with her. She'd never imagined allowing anyone to see where she came from, to dig down and explore who she is, what made her, what shaped her.

The thought made her throat close up and she dropped her head back, willing her heart to slow and for some sense of the stoic Elsie to take hold.

"Oh, bugger it," she snapped at herself as the sky opened up and the rain fell. Pulling the car keys out she dropped her feet to the muddy floor and ran towards the open door.

Charles was at the end of the hallway, by the stairs, setting the bags down by the side of them beneath the space where coats hung.

"Wasn't sure where to put these," he said as she came towards him.

He paused when she purposefully came close to him, her hand on his upper arm.

"I love you," she said urgently, "you do know that? I need you to know that. Never mind what…" she paused, her eyes searching his face. "…Earlier…"

He nodded, mouth slightly open as she stood on tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. His arms surrounded her, hands at the small of her back as he held her tight against him, their kiss growing in depth and intensity.

When she pulled an inch back from him they both smiled foolishly; her nose touching his.

"Talk later?" She said lightly.

He nodded, his fingers lacing with hers against her hip.

She kissed him again, just quickly, then backed away, turning her head to see her father watching them from the other end of the hall.

For the shortest of seconds, he stared at the pair of them; scanning the way their bodies leant together, where Charles' hand lay on her back, hers still holding his other one.

Grumbling in the back of his throat he questioned, "Still 'ere then?"

Elsie sighed, licking her lips, "I'm not giving up that easily, Dad." She let go of Charles and walked towards her father, "I'll put the kettle on, shall I?"

* * *

"Stop preening," Douglas said, poking at the fire and watching Becky in the mirror.

"Leave her, Dad," Elsie smiled, wiping a cloth over the table. "She's happy."

"Can I try my dress on now?"

"Not just yet," Douglas said, his voice softening, "and you better be taking those shoes off too, put your wellies on for locking up the barns."

Elsie was about to respond but bit her lip; they were in a long held routine and really she shouldn't interfere. She watched Becky do as her father asked and set out the teapot and mugs.

Charles took his coat off and settled himself in the chair at one end of the table, pouring the tea as Elsie sliced a large piece of fruit cake and put it in front of her father.

"Dad, sit down, eat this. I want to talk to you."

"More talking," he yanked out a chair and wearily collapsed into it, pulling off his hat and laying it on the table. "Where did you get the cake?"

"Fran's, in town, you always liked her cake."

"Her daughter runs it now, same recipe mind." He said, taking a bite. "Still tasty."

"Good," she added a drop of milk to his mug and a lump of sugar. "Now, I want to bring something up with you."

"She's happy," he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Happen you've done her some good, taking her out."

Elsie allowed herself a small smile at that, she felt her chest lighten just slightly. "Thank you. I wish I could do more, I wish I could see her more often."

Douglas watched her, "You're different," he finally said, then he seemed to remember himself and took a long drink of his tea. "Don't turn her head; it'll be different when you've gone back."

"I know," Elsie said softly; she could feel the quiet comfort of Charles watching her. "I'd like to arrange for her to go back to the hairdressers, every other month, something like that. I'll pay."

Douglas pursed his lips, murmured then nodded, "If it keeps her happy."

"I think she'll like it."

"She can't go alone into town though and I can't be expected to –,"

"I'll talk to Aunt Jan, or Hannah, she might go with her." She folded her hands on the table, "I want to do something for her, for her to have something."

"I do take care of her."

"I know that Dad, I never doubted that, not for a second."

He looked to the table, to his own hand and the place where his wedding ring sat embedded in his old skin. "She still misses your mother," he admitted, "cries, sometimes, not as much now as she did when it… Well."

The silence seemed to stretch painfully onwards and Charles squeezed his hand against his knee beneath the table.

"What…" Charles coughed to clear his throat. "What was her name? Your mother?"

"May," Elsie said gently, taking her time before looking up at him. "Becky looks more like her than me…" she tapped her fingers upon the table. "Well, let's…" she stood up, reaching for the teapot and refilling their mugs.

" _You_ look like her," Douglas said, pulling his mug towards him. "Now you do, anyhow." He looked up at Elsie, "The way you hold your chin. Regal. Like the world is beneath you."

"Thanks. That makes me, us, sound snooty, horrid."

"No." he paused, his eyes narrowing. "Beautiful."

She flexed her fingers out on the table, "Dad." Her voice was soft and for a second Charles felt he was intruding. "She can't carry the farm with you, I've noticed, you've got her doing more and more and…"

"Ah," Douglas' tone was defensive as he leant back in his chair, "she's fine, fit."

"Maybe. But you're not," Elsie said, hoping her words wouldn't be seen as an attack. "I want to help Dad but you have to _let_ me. Stop fighting me."

He drained his mug, placed it on top of his empty plate and pushed it aside. "Go on then, what's your big idea?"

"I don't have no big idea," she said. "But I have suggestions. My first," she took a deep breath, "You won't like it."

His eyebrows rose and she thought how much the action reminded her of Charles giving her one of his looks.

"They're building some new houses."

"No."

"Just try, Dad, just see. They're right over on Asher's corner, that plot of land, remember the old storage place was there, remember?"

"Not lost my marbles just yet," he said and he heard Charles smirk and cast him a quick look – he seemed a good man, a decent sort, truth be told.

"There's a bungalow, I checked it all out a while ago."

"You've seen it?"

"Only online," she admitted. "But it'd be perfect for you and Becky, a corner plot, bottom of the field, nothing behind you but the woods so you could still walk the terriers and not too far for Becky to get to the stables. There's buses to town, one would drop her off right by the centre."

"Little Miss Planner."

"Please don't mock me."

"Is that what I'm doing?"

She narrowed her eyes, "I'm never sure. Would you see it?"

"Why?"

Dad," her shoulders sagged, "just go, please, I can take you, tomorrow if possible. I can ring in the morning."

"I won't like it. And I can't… even if I did. You know this farm, you know how hard I fought for it, worked my guts out for it before you were born."

"I know that Dad, I know how hard it would be, what it would cost you."

"It's in my bones."

"It's killing you," she said quickly and the air paused, just for a moment, as he looked at her with such intensity. Then she reached across, touched the knuckles of his right hand. "Please. Just come with me."

He breathed, then gave a slight nod.

* * *

Charles took his time rinsing his face; he was staring at himself in the mirror, patting the water away when Elsie came in.

"Excuse me," she said as she squeezed by him.

"This bathroom's so damned small," he said, watching her strip off her robe and underwear and step into the shower. "I'm gonna make some tea, you want some?"

"A-ha," she nodded, pulling the shower curtain across. "Quick rinse."

By the time she came out, damp hair clipped on top of her head and back in her robe, Charles was sitting in bed watching the news.

"Your tea's going cold."

"Sorry," she rummaged in the top drawer of the dresser, "do you have a spare t-shirt?"

"You're cold?"

"A little, I don't want to sleep in this, I'll tie myself up in it."

He threw off the quilt and got out of bed, finding her a t-shirt out, "Serves you right for never packing nightwear; not that it bothers me." He smiled, nudging her elbow, but she ignored his comments and instead moved to the opposite side of the bed, taking off her robe and quickly putting the t-shirt on before climbing in bed.

"Thanks for the tea," she turned her lamp off, settled back on her pillows and sipped the cooling liquid.

"You're welcome. So you er, you going to talk to me, or just ignore me? Or rather _it_?"

"I haven't been ignoring you, have I?"

"No, not in terms of the silent treatment or… but you've… you've been quiet since we left the farm."

She shrugged, "A long day. An emotional…" she shook her head, put her tea down and shuffled down in the bed, turning onto her side, her back to him.

Sighing, Charles switched off the television and laid down next to her, on his back for a moment before turning over and facing her. He laid his hand on her upper back, "Darling," he whispered, brushing his hand down to her hip. "I'm sorry if I upset you... this morning."

She closed her eyes, squeezed them shut; she was too tired to do this. "I'm not upset."

"Then what? You never responded to it, you've deliberately avoided it."

"What did you want me to say?"

"Nothing dramatic," he pulled her back towards him, pushed himself up onto one elbow so he could look down at her.

She peered up at his face; her heart ached for hurting him, for not reacting better to what he'd said.

"I'm sorry, I know it must have cost you a lot to say what you did. I didn't mean to be rude."

"Oh, nonsense," he shook his head. "I wasn't proposing, I don't want you to worry or get scared and think that's what I was doing, not yet. We haven't even known each other a year, I'm not deluded."

"Thanks very much."

"I can't win."

She smiled.

"It wasn't a proposal Elsie, believe me. If it were a proposal, I'd have made a much better job of it."

"You would?"

"Course. Something romantic, something memorable," he touched her hair. "A huge diamond."

She smiled again, "See, you do know me," she mumbled half into her pillow.

He chuckled, "It was a spontaneous comment, but that doesn't mean it wasn't heartfelt. Marriage is something I want, not with anybody else, I've never considered it…" he huffed, "Not since Alice, anyhow."

She rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, look how well that turned out." He touched her hair, "But with you, for the rest of our lives? Yes, that's where I can see us going." He swallowed, "And, if I'm honest, it upset me that you reacted so negatively towards it."

"Oh I didn't, I haven't," she said eagerly, twisting fully onto her back and reaching up to touch his face, "It just surprised me. I say just, it _really_ bloody surprised me."

"You've never considered it?"

"I've never considered marrying anyone, Charles, not even Joe, not really. It was a game back then, a role I thought I had to play. That was such an almighty mess and I never… that doesn't mean I don't want to be with you, to spend my life with you."

"I'm not saying _now_ , I'm not pushing for anything, honestly. I really didn't mean to scare you."

"I'm not scared, that wasn't why I reacted…" she turned onto her side to face him, plumping the pillows up, "I can't explain it."

"Try. You think it's easy for me to just lay my heart bare?"

"No."

"Because believe me, it isn't. After Alice, years on my own, finding somebody I can trust enough –,"

"You can trust me."

"And I do. I do trust you. I wouldn't offer to help out with the farm."

"I don't want you to pour money into this, I'm not saying that to be cruel."

"I know. I get it, I understand why."

"And I didn't avoid...what you said. The 'm' word just threw me. And my mind is spinning anyway, being back here, trying to decide what to do about it all and then you just… it just seemed to come out of nowhere."

"Am I allowed to hold you for a moment or do we have to be all standoffish?"

She slid forward into his arms; her hands gripping his back, eyes closed as she breathed in the scent of his chest.

"I don't like being distant from you," he whispered, "I don't like awkward feelings between us. It seems wrong, not being on the same page."

"I agree," she said into his skin. "Oh this is unworkable," she yanked herself free, pulling the t-shirt up and over her head, "you know I hate clothes in bed."

"Which is one of the reasons that one day I might propose," he opened his arms for her to sink back into them.

"Very funny," she groaned as she pressed against him. "I don't know why you'd want to."

"Where do you get this idea? That you're unlovable?"

She pressed her cheek to his chest, "Experience," she finally said and his heart thumped against her face.

"What experience would lead you to think that, hmm?" He kissed the top of her head. "What could possibly lead you to ever think that?"

She was silent for such a long time that he wondered if she was asleep. That perhaps she'd drifted off after the exhaustion of the day. That was fine, they could talk another time, he figured they had forever now – an unspoken bond, that this was how it would always be; the two of them.

But then he realised she was crying. Silently at first. The warmth of it; slight, steady trickles of moisture sliding over his chest. He tuned his brain into her movements, to the tiny curling of her fingers against his belly. The sounds of the room, shrinking in and focussing on the ticking clock, the darkness moving around them.

He moved his fingers into the heat of her hair, and perhaps that was a mistake because then she really cried and he hadn't quite been prepared for watching her come apart.

The sight of Elsie Hughes coming undone broke his heart; he'd never heard her really cry before, not the soul-wracking sobs that shook her body now. Her tears drying on his skin, her entre being shaking in his arms. He could do little but try and soothe, but even then he knew she had to cry it out – sometimes it was all you could do.

Her body shifted, her head slid to his belly, tears slowing.

Charles stroked her hair, one hand massaging her shoulder as the other ran through the silky strands.

"I never let myself care," she mumbled, "because it's easier not to."

"I know; I do the same."

"I don't want to let you down."

"How on earth would you do that?"

"I let everyone down."

"Nonsense."

It took every ounce of energy to push herself forward, to reach for the box of tissues on the side and blow her nose and wipe her face.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

"Don't be," the tips of his fingers just grazed against her knee.

"Not at all attractive."

He shook his head, his hand still rubbing her knee. "You know you can tell me anything. I don't want to see you like this, but I do want to know why."

He held his hands apart, an invitation to come back to him, and she did, lying on her back with her head on his stomach.

"The night my father… I did tell you, didn't I? About how my father knew? How he found out?"

He closed his eyes, the scene playing out inside his brain, "Christmas party at your house."

"I didn't realise that my father had seen him creeping out of my room. When I got up the next morning everyone had gone; Dad was out working, mum had made porridge and Becky and I sat in our pyjamas in front of the fire eating it. It was so frosty, I remember that so well, isn't that odd? It seemed like the coldest December I'd ever known. We had to clean the house, there was mess everywhere from the party – glasses, food, you know. In the afternoon Becky and I worked in the barn, we sat on the hay and I read to her. Dad never came home, not til it was dark and Becky was asleep and just me up with mum."

"He'd avoided you?"

"I suppose so; avoided dealing with it anyway."

She was still again, quiet as she stared up at the ceiling and remembered.

"It was the most awful thing," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "I'd never seen him…" her voice clouded over. "He's never been like that. Unhinged. And my mother crying, it was the first she knew – him screaming at me. Dragging me across the room."

She felt Charles' hand against her stomach; a warm, comforting weight, protective and soothing.

"He hurt you?"

"It doesn't… he didn't…" she sighed, searching for the words. "He was disgusted by me. And I'm embarrassed by it." She reached for his hand, feeling his fingers close around hers. "Still." She closed her eyes, "He threw me out, it was raining and I was crying and I just didn't know – I'd never hurt anyone before you know, not really; silly playground stuff, kids arguing, but never really _hurt_ someone. It was an odd feeling, like being in a fog."

She turned a little, so her face was away from his gaze.

"What did you do?"

"Ran, only place I could think to go. I was so absolutely convinced that this was it – love. And that it would always be that way. So, I was bedraggled and muddy and soaked and creeping around this farmhouse peering through the windows."

"The farmer?" He asked, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible.

"Geoff. Yes."

"And… what? You went in?"

"God no. I got his attention through a window. He came out to me in the barn; it wasn't the first time we'd met there – I tearfully poured my soul out about my parents knowing. Told him it would be okay because now people knew we could be together and I could call off my engagement and he could leave his wife and we'd be together… Stupid, foolish ideas. Of course he didn't want any of that. I think it actually terrified him; the thought of being with me."

"I'm surprised your father didn't beat the hell out of him."

"I thought he'd shoot him," she said honestly, "I think maybe Geoff thought that too."

"What did you do?"

"Cried. And cried and cried and cried. He didn't want me. Just wanted to fuck me, of course. And so I ran back home, where the hell else was I going to go? I hid in the barn – soaked through, shaking… I must've fallen asleep in there. When I woke up I was in my bed, wrapped up warm with a water bottle."

Charles smiled sadly, "Your Dad carried you in?"

"Under duress from mother I would guess."

He squeezed her hand, "Oh, I don't know. I think maybe he was sorry he didn't protect you from that bastard."

Her head twisted sharply as she looked at him for the first time.

"You don't think that's what he is?"

"I think it's hard to just place labels, none of us acted perfectly. Correctly. But when I woke up that day we were both different people; our relationship was damaged, and we never got it back." Her brow creased, "And I hate myself for doing that."

He brought his hand up to her face and brushed his knuckles across her cheek, "You have to let it go."

She gave him a watery smile, "Are you going to burst into song?"

"Don't make jokes," his hand slid to her shoulder and tugged her towards him.

"Don't be nice to me."

"Shut up," he pulled her fully against him, kissing her forehead. "I'm always nice to you."

"You are."

"I'm glad you told me," he said gently.

"Well, we did make a pact, didn't we, to be honest." Her face felt flushed, head heavy and spinning with the weight of it all. "What a day – if I'm not arguing with my father or having promises of marriage thrown my way…"

"You're forcing me to get my eyebrows done."

She folded her arms on his chest, looking up at him, "Oh yes; how are they feeling?"

"Sore, truth be told. But worth it, to see you and Becky together."

"I've got some stuff you can use to stop them stinging," she reached up to his face. "She had a good day."

"She did." He licked his lips, "You're not unlovable, Elsie, far from it. You're the kindest, most sincere person. Hard as nails and practical and yes, downright bossy at times."

She smiled at that.

"But wonderful. And very, very lovable."

Her voice was small, "Thank you… for so many things."

He gave a slight nod, "Tomorrow we'll see these properties and take it from there. Don't worry; we'll make it work."

* * *

 **Friday 9** **th** **September**

When Elsie woke the room was still dark, she felt warm cocooned against Charles' side but as she turned and the sheets shifted the coldness of the room touched her arm and she shivered, burrowing back down beneath the quilt.

Charles breathed against her forehead and she slid her palm over his chest, lifting her head to kiss his mouth; sweet, tiny kisses until he groaned and slung his arm over her, pulling her tight against him.

"I want a cup of tea," she said.

"Is that a hint?"

"Mmm," she kissed his chin, his chest, pressing her face momentarily against him. "I need to pee too though but I don't want to get up." She looked up to his resting face, "It's comfy here."

"I'm still asleep."

Smiling, she kissed his mouth again, gently pressing her lips to his. "Your chin is prickly."

"Still asleep…"

Her kisses became more insistent; the press of her lips against his lasted longer, more pressure applied, until his hand squeezed her bottom.

"Stop it, else I'll have to kiss you properly."

"Oh…?" She giggled in the back of her throat and he growled and almost lifted her on top of him, his mouth opening hers, kissing her deeply, passionately.

"Better?" He asked, finally opening his eyes.

She smiled, "I still want a cup of tea."

"Maddening woman."

"Ah, don't squeeze me, there'll be an accident. Okay… I really need to go." she pulled herself out of his arms and reluctantly got out of bed.

"I want biscuits with my tea," he said, closing his eyes and turning onto his side again.

"Biscuits?" She called from the bathroom, "You do realise we're in a B&B?" She rinsed her hands, filled the kettle and came back into the room to plug it in. "If you get up I'll take you for breakfast."

"Last time you said that I had to actually make it."

She smiled, watching him in the bed. "Not today. I'll ring the property place soon as it turns nine."

"What time is it now?"

"8:25."

"We slept quite well then, latest since we got here." Charles opened his eyes, moved onto his back.

"A-ha. Perhaps we're getting used to the lumpy mattress."

He smiled at her, "Perhaps. Be good to be back in my own bed though."

She pouted, "Oh?" and the kettle finished boiling.

"You know what I mean, mine or yours."

The mention of home made her think about the recently decorated room standing there waiting for him; the question she still had to ask. She brushed that aside for the moment and made the tea. There were other things to deal with first. One step at a time.

"I'll have to take my laptop to breakfast with us, use the Wi-Fi and check my emails and such."

"Alright, I need to call Thomas, make sure everything's ticking along. I'm sure it will be; he hardly needs me now. Just my name."

"Don't say that," she carried the mugs over, set them down and got back in bed. "And I need you."

"Well then, that's all that matters."

They sat side-by-side drinking their tea.

"Can I ask you something?" He said.

"Yep."

"How long after that business you told me about last night did you leave?"

She sighed, "Few days. I couldn't stand it, I had to get out, away. I called off the engagement the next day. Then started packing, got a train ticket. God knows what I thought I was going to do, where I'd sleep. I had hardly any money, just savings from my weekend job, money my Grandparents had given me." She laughed harshly, "When I think about it now I have no idea how I survived."

"Smart. Practical. See?"

"Lucky I guess too," she said, "in a way." She finished her tea, "Hardest thing I'd ever done, leaving. Though I suppose at the time I didn't realise it would be forever, maybe I thought at some point I'd return home. Maybe I didn't. I don't know. Things are so complicated."

He tapped his hand against her leg, "Human emotions are complex. And parents… is there a more complicated relationship?"

She smiled, leaning against his shoulder, "I'm gonna take a quick shower, then I'll call and arrange a viewing."

"Okay." He let her go, watched her get out of bed and walk naked towards the bathroom. "Don't forget my breakfast."

"Haven't."

* * *

Mr Sanders, who met them at the site, was every inch a salesman, pure and simple. Big bellied with thinning, slicked-back hair. He prattled on for an age about prices and worktop choices; Elsie knew her father was bored within three minutes of being there. She got him a hot chocolate from the machine and hoped that she could discuss whatever needed to be discussed by the time he'd finished it.

"When can we see the house?" Becky asked, fiddling with the carpet samples.

"Five minutes, Becks," Elsie said, watching her sister line up the square tiles, matching colours and patterns until they fit neatly on the surface.

"I will go through everything with you," she said to Mr Sanders. "But would you mind very much if we went around the property ourselves?"

"Not at all, feel free. Save your questions up for me."

She smiled sweetly, "We will." Feeling Charles' eyes on her she turned to face him, rolling her eyes so the salesman couldn't see. "Right, are we ready?"

"Get the bloody thing over with," Douglas complained, throwing his paper cup into the waste basket.

The fact he was still in mud-splattered wellington boots when they'd arrived at the farm said all that needed to be said about how he viewed this entire event. But, he'd changed when she'd asked him too and he was there and that was one hell of a step.

"This is only the example," Elsie said, leading the way towards the property, her heels loud against the block paving. "The show home. Not the real thing."

"Why can't we see the real thing?" Becky asked, tugging on the belt of her jeans, "Instead of the pretend thing?"

"Because it hasn't been built yet," Elsie stopped, sliding her glasses on and peering at the map she'd been given. "Look, down there sweetheart, where the tower is in the distance, do you see?"

"Yep."

"Well, they're building it closer to that. Do you see the base is done?"

"All those bricks?"

"Yes, all those bricks. We'll drive down the lane after and I'll show you." She glanced back at her father, "Then we can look at the boundaries, Dad."

Charles was at the back of the group, his hands behind his back at her walked, and he watched Doug nod in agreement and Elsie set off again.

"She looks like a businesswoman," Doug said, "all dressed up."

"She is a businesswoman," Charles replied, coming up behind him. "A good one."

"Certainly talks like one. Where'd she get all this knowledge from on houses?"

"I suppose she learned it, over time." They followed the two women down the path and towards the show home at the end of the row. "It means a lot to her, you know, that you agreed to come here."

"If it stops her fussing," he snapped, then stopped himself. "Well, and Becky is looking forward to it so that's another thing. Not sure what to expect, always thought new builds were like cardboard."

"There's some good developers out there now, and she wouldn't have brought you here if she didn't think it was high quality. She knows her stuff." Charles held open the door for the older man and let him go inside.

"Dad!" Becky almost screamed from down the hall, "Come and look at the kitchen, it's huge! And there's doors to the garden."

"Alright, calm it down," Doug followed Becky into the kitchen and Charles closed the door, wiping his feet on the door mat.

"What do you think?" Elsie whispered, coming out of the lounge.

"It's nice, larger than I thought it'd be – it's bright."

"It is, isn't it?" She wrapped her arms around his waist. "Never thought I'd get him here."

He pressed a kiss to her forehead and hugged her; she felt almost fragile in his arms, and he, in turn, felt incredibly protective towards her as he remembered her shattered against him he previous night. She fought so hard to be the tough, strong Elsie who could take care of everything and everybody. Even she needed reminding every now and then that she didn't have to do it all alone.

She pulled away, smiling, then turning to look down the hall towards the other rooms. "This would be so good for them, look at the layout – great for him getting around in old age."

His hands rested on her hips and he kissed her cheek, "Love you," he whispered and she leant back against him, closing her eyes for a moment.

"I want to see my room, Elsie, can we?" Becky said.

"Course honey," she slipped out of Charles' embrace, making her way towards her sister. "I think it's on this side," she pushed open the door. "Here we go."

"It's big," Becky said, "Look at the mirror. Look at the lights above the bed. Dad, look, fairy lights."

"They don't come with the bungalow," Doug pointed out as he followed them into the bedroom. "Good size though."

"I like these," Becky slid open the wardrobe doors, "look how big they are." She climbed inside the cupboards and shut the doors from the inside.

"I like this place better already," Doug said, "can shut her away." Becky laughed from inside the cupboards and Doug turned back to the door, "Where's my space?"

Elsie followed him out and into the bedroom opposite, "What do you think Dad?"

"Don't like the colours in here," he commented, peering into the en suite.

"You don't have to have these colours; you have to think of _your_ colours, _your_ furniture in here."

He switched the bedroom lights on and off, "Not sure they'll allow my furniture in here, too old, might damage their house."

"Yeah, right." She shook her head at him, "You want me to show you the kitchen, study?"

"I'll get there," He opened the cupboard doors. "Let me be, Elsie, I'm fine wandering on my own."

"Alright, alright." She backed away from him, heading into the kitchen and opening the doors to the garden. She sat at the kitchen table staring out at the peaceful green; she could picture them here, she'd thought that when she'd seen the images online, but being there made it ever more real.

"Do you like it, Elsie?"

She was surprised to find Becky watching her, and put on a smile, leaning back in her seat. "I do darling. What about you? What do you think? That's what really matters."

"I do _really, really_ like it. It's very bright and clean, everywhere is clean. And there are no bumps in the wall, like on our stairs there are bumps."

"It's because the building is old, and the stone they used to make it was uneven."

"Do you not like our old house, Elsie?" She asked, suddenly quite serious.

Elsie frowned, "Whatever makes you think that? Nothing of the kind, I like it a lot. I'm just worried about you and Dad. I think you need somewhere… somewhere easier for the pair of you."

"What's your home like?" Becky said, sitting across from her. "Like this one? Is it easier too?"

Elsie smiled fondly, "A little."

"Do you think it's so very far away that I might not ever see it?"

"No dear, it's not that far away." She reached across to touch Becky's hand, "You can come and see it whenever you want."

"I would like to. I know, you and Dada, you have fights and stuff."

"Oh, we would never mean to upset you."

"I know…" she bit on her lip and Elsie smiled, it was so endearing to watch, like seeing herself. "I'm not so clever."

"Becky –,"

"But I'm not stupid. I know you and Dada fight, and that's why you never visit us. And I am scared of leaving the farm."

"Then we won't do it, we won't move you."

"I will though. I'm excited about it too. Mummy would like it, I think, here."

"I think so too."

"And I can still have my pictures of her in my bedroom like I do now. Maybe I can have them all on the wall with the fairy lights around her like an angel, do you think?"

Elsie felt her eyes burn, "I think that would be quite beautiful."

Becky nodded, turning her face to the open doors, "Can I go in the garden?"

"Of course, you go where you like."

She had just covered her face with her hands when she heard Charles come into the room, taking a seat in the one Becky had vacated.

"Did you hear all that?"

He nodded, "I think she'll be fine. Maybe even adjust quicker than your father."

"Men always take longer to adjust to things."

"Hey, I resent that. I've adjusted fairly quickly to being a 'man friend'."

She laughed loudly, "Good lord, I'd forgotten about that label." She continued to laugh, and Charles grinned broadly at her, glad he'd been able to lighten a suddenly sombre mood.

"Good to hear that, your laugh. You've been so serious this week, so emotionally heavy."

"I guess."

"You know you should invite them for Christmas, don't you? To spend Christmas with us in York."

She tilted her head to one side, "Last year, last Christmas, I was wondering how I was going to make it through another festive day as the guest as somebody else's house. I didn't even know your name."

"And this year?" He asked gently.

"I can't imagine a day without you in it."

He felt his cheeks pink, the lines around his eyes crinkle as he smiled, "You know how to make a man's day."

She swayed back in her chair, folding her arms, eyebrows raised, "Sometimes, more than once."

"Elsie?" Becky asked breathlessly as she peeped her head inside, "where will the chickens go?"

"Let's go take a look, shall we?"

* * *

It had been years since Elsie had used such an ancient cooker, but some things you don't easily forget. She remembered burnt pie crusts and smouldering pans – her mother over her shoulder as she taught her the basics. She'd never been much of a cook but she'd just about got by over the years – she could make a decent meal, just nothing too fancy.

Her father had gone out to work when they'd returned from the viewing; Becky had prattled on about the bungalow in the car on the return to the farm and he was no doubt exhausted by her excitement.

Becky herself had put on her wellingtons and gone walking with the dogs once Elsie had suggested she cook them something for dinner, leaving her and Charles to prepare things. He'd peeled potatoes and put them on to boil as she'd fried onions and minced-lamb, filling the kitchen with rustic homeliness.

"I was thinking I'd take a look at the radiators," Charles said, rinsing his hands under lukewarm water. "And the boiler. I'm not much of a handyman but I can take a look, maybe ring a plumber if I can't work it out… or get in a mess."

"Alright." Elsie ladled gravy over the meat and carrots, "There's a tool box in the cupboard beneath the stairs."

"Right," he wiped his hands, watching her scoop mashed potato onto the top of the pie. "Ages since I had a good shepherd's pie. My Grandma used to make it."

"Mine too, I preferred cottage pie, truth be told, but Dad likes lamb."

"You know; the first known record of cottage pie was 1791."

She turned to him, one of her trademark questioning scowls in place, "How the hell do you know that?"

He shrugged, "Read it in a book once, history of England. Chapter on food."

"I'm glad that your memory stores these little things." She turned back to her pie, "I'm going to bake a cake I think, so if you hear screaming or smell anything burning you know what it is."

"Right you are." He pressed a kiss to the back of her head and left her alone, going off to tackle the radiators.

* * *

"Well, what do you think?" Elsie asked proudly as she place the cake in the centre of the table.

"Wow! It's huge!" Becky said, getting out of her seat and reaching across to scrape icing from the top. She licked it from her finger, "Ginger."

"Ginger cake." Elsie explained, taking a knife and cutting into it, "I even put ginger preserve in the middle; I hope it's not overkill."

"I love ginger," Charles handed his plate to her and she placed a slice of the cake on it.

"I know," Elsie smiled. "Dad? You want some?" She eyed her father's face, his waxy pallor, dark eyes. "I didn't burn it. Not like that birthday cake I made that time."

"What birthday cake?" Becky asked, a forkful of cake in her mouth. "Did I get some?"

"You were only a baby," Elsie said.

"Those were the days my daughter still did things for my birthday," Douglas said, accepting the cake.

"I'm doing things now." Elsie sat down after serving the others, taking hold of her own fork. Her father had been in a sour mood ever since he'd gotten home, like a dark cloud was following him around.

"Interfering in things now," he grumbled, pushing cake around his plate.

"This is wonderful," Charles interrupted, "I'm impressed. You continue to surprise me."

"I bet she bloody does."

"There's no need to –," Charles started.

"My house, can say what I like. Bugger it!" Doug got to his, kicking his chair aside and putting his cap back on. "I'm off to the pub."

"Oh Dad," Elsie moaned, getting up from her chair as she watched him storm out; the slammed front door a familiar sound. She watched Charles get up and poke at the fire, throwing on another log, and Becky barely moving as she turned her fork over on her empty plate.

"I'll go get him," Elsie said. "You two have some more cake. Have some more cake, Becky, yes?"

Becky looked up, eyes wide and dark. She nodded silently.

"I'll cut it this time," Charles said to her, his tone jovial to lighten the mood. "Cut us a proper big slice."

Elsie smiled at him as she curled her scarf around her throat, "Don't make yourselves sick."

"You okay? Because I can go find him."

She shook her head, "No, no. I need to."

* * *

It was already dark outside, and cold beyond the warmth of the kitchen. For a few seconds she remained by the door, letting her eyes adjust to the light, shivering inside her coat. The heavy rain of the afternoon had weakened to no more than a slight drizzle but the land before her was sodden and the air reeked of earth – fresh, damp. It smelled of childhood.

The hunched figure of her father made her move her feet and she crossed the driveway, splashing her legs with muddy water as she went. She clambered up the slight incline, slipping a little on the grass, but making it to the top and towards the old fence she used to sit on as a child.

"There was no need to storm out," she said to the darkness, and her father made a slight movement with his head, drawing a cigarette from his lips and blowing out a plume of white smoke into the evening air. "You shouldn't smoke Dad," she sighed, "I thought you'd given all that up."

"Have done," he said, flicking the stub to the floor. "Most of the time."

"It's cold," she said, leaning back against the fence. "Already frosty."

"Don't start on about the house again…"

"I don't want you to get another bout of flu, you never know… with the house damp. If you won't let me get it seen to or… maybe we could do something with the lounge, put your bed down there so the fire can be lit and keep you warm. I don't know. Charles rang a plumber about the heating, should be here tomorrow."

He made a hissing sound, drawing air in through the tight gap between his front teeth. "That house, maybe it wasn't too bad."

"Do you mean the bungalow?"

"Mm, wasn't what I expected."

"They're doing a nice job. I can…" she shuffled a little, wiggling her rapidly freezing toes. "I can easily make changes to suit you both; Becky having her own bathroom would be good. But now is the time, whilst the plot is still a shell."

"Ah I don't know. It all seems such a bother."

"I would handle it."

"How can you do that and manage your own job at the same time?"

"I can. I would." She tilted her head back, looked toward the clearing sky, "I can sell the farm from York, I wouldn't have to be here for that, for most of it, anyhow. And you know I'd do the best job I could, you know that. I'd get you the most I possibly could."

"I know you would," he agreed, closing his eyes for a moment. "Been here so long, happen I wouldn't survive without it."

"Maybe. And maybe you'd thrive, without the burden of work, worrying about finances. You'd be free to follow your own interests; I don't know, go fishing, play darts at the local."

"It seems so clear to you."

"No Dad, it doesn't. It seems one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. I don't want to move you and uproot Becky; do you think I'd want that? To upset the two of you?"

He mulled on it then shook his head.

"I won't push you, but I do ask that you think about it." She sighed, uncrossed her legs and pushed herself forward a little to get the feeling back into her limbs. "I have to go home, be back for Monday, I need to get things in line. I've bought some more houses."

"How many?"

"Three, they're being renovated and then I'll rent them out. Or sell them on. I haven't quite decided yet."

"No wonder you can afford to drive a big fancy Land Rover."

"You can have one too, the farm will bring in a pretty penny. Besides it isn't mine, Charles rented it; he drives one back at home."

"This Charles," he said cautiously.

"Yes?"

"Since New Year, he said."

"Pretty much, we started… _dating_ … in January."

"And, it's lasting, or seeming like it might?"

She licked her lips, looked towards the bright light at the kitchen window across the way. "He wants to marry me," she said, not to prove a point but to share it with somebody – the thought had been turning around in her mind ever since Charles had casually used the 'm' word and she needed to get it out in the open air. "He hasn't proposed, but he made it clear that's what he wants."

"And, when he does propose, what will you say?"

"Yes," she said simply, then looked up quickly to his face. "You're surprised by that?"

He laughed shortly, "You always second guess people. Do you realise that? Jump ahead thinking you know the answer to your questions before you've even asked them."

"Thanks for that little confidence boost. I already know what a terrible person I am, you don't have to remind me."

He chewed his lip, watching her face, the glassy eyes blinking before she turned her gaze away from his.

"You're far from a terrible person, Elsie. In answer to your question – perhaps I am surprised. I'd always imagined that if you were to marry it would happen early on, you seemed so damned set on finding romance and excitement."

"Did I?"

"It's what drew you to… _him_ , I suppose."

"I never really loved Geoffrey; it was a childish fantasy."

"Yes. But you do love Charles?"

She nodded, "Very much. I never realised… it was a surprise to me, to find it had happened."

"He's not what I pictured you with."

"What's that mean? You don't like him?"

"I like him very much, he seems a decent, hardworking man. But he isn't what I imagined you turning up with, nor marrying."

"Why?"

"Well for a start he's not a lad," he said, "you spent so many years dating these younger men. A different name whenever I asked."

"Which wasn't often; I wasn't even aware you were paying attention."

"Always. I worried so –,"

"You never said," she said quickly, shaking her head. "Why did you never say? Show me you care?"

"You know why. I worried because you were clearly doing so well, financially, business wise. I always knew you'd be one of life's winners."

"I wouldn't say that."

"You are." He took hold of her hand where it lay on the top of the fence post between them. "There were so many dreams tied up in these hands, so many hopes and dreams."

"And I ruined them all?"

He went to answer then paused, clearing his throat, giving his brain time to catch up. "There are things we don't say, Elsie, things we let just go on. For far too long, as it turns out. I was never disappointed in you; I was angry that your first 'love' was some affection starved middle-aged-man who should have known better; but a pretty, bright girl like you turning his head. Well…" He shrugged. "He should have done the decent thing and put you off instead of feeding his ego. I was angry at him, and at myself, for never noticing until it was too late. And yes, I was angry with you, the embarrassment of it all. A cancelled engagement, the plans for this place…all falling through. But then you left and you didn't come back. And anger subsides but the space it once filled needs something – bitterness, resentment. It was easier to fight you, hate you, than accept you as you are now."

She found she couldn't speak; her father was rarely so articulate, or so reflective. Even after her mother died he'd hardly said a word about anything other than the farm.

"I worried because these young men you dated, well, you clearly had little affection for them, they were just company."

She bristled at that, "It was my decision."

"Yes. And I'm not condemning it. There's a lot to be said for the simple pleasures," he turned to glance at her, " _Fun_."

She pursed her lips, lifted her chin.

"But I worried for you financially. I didn't want them to take advantage. It soon became obvious that nobody would because you never let anyone close enough to."

How did he know all this? They'd never spoken of it and during phone conversations she'd always told him so very little of her life, only snippets of information. Had he read so clearly between the lines?

"After Geoff," she omitted the failures in London, "I decided nobody would ever take advantage of me again. That I would be the one in charge. It took me a long time to get over that, years, to find my own way."

"I know. And I know how hard you worked." He breathed deeply, shifting slightly to resettle his bottom against the fence. "I never imagined Charles because he's not like those young men you spoke of, in fact he seems so far removed from the fresh-faced chiselled good looks…"

Dad," she groaned.

"I'm not saying the man doesn't have handsome qualities, but he's not the stereotype you always went for. Boy band types."

She chuckled, "No, I suppose not."

"But I can see, quite clearly, that the man adores you. That he'll take care of you, stay by your side, like I would've done with your mother." He paused momentarily, glancing to where his boots had sunk into the mud, "Like I did."

"I don't want to take you away from this place if you – if you need to be here for mum."

His face was close to hers, his eyes bright, his hand warm over hers, "She's in here. Just as I suspect she's always with you. And watching you proudly…" he paused, swallowed, said into the night, "just as I am."

* * *

 _ **I've thoroughly enjoyed writing these family scenes - please let me know what you thought and thanks for the continued Chelsie support! xx**_


	26. Chapter 26

_**After everything that happened in Scotland I wanted to return to one of my favourite chapters - #5 - and do a similar thing with just the 2 of them enjoying an evening together.**_

* * *

 **Chapter 26**

 **Wednesday 21** **st** **September**

"I didn't expect you tonight," Elsie said, holding open the door with one hand and tilting her head to the side as Charles leant in to kiss her cheek.

"Do I have to make an appointment?" He asked, a hand on the small of her back as he came into the house and shut the door behind him.

"Course not," she tightened the belt on her dressing gown.

"Haven't seen my girlfriend in a few days," he hung his coat up, "and I kinda missed her, that's all."

She smiled, "Well then, that's nice. Unfortunately, your girlfriend is feeling decidedly ropey."

"Still got a headache?"

"Can't shake it."

"Wondered why you were in your dressing gown just after six."

"I was going to take a bath."

"It's stress, worrying about your Dad, rushing home and back to your own work and all that entails."

"I know. Tea?"

"A-ha, I'll make it though, I can do that. Is he still undecided?"

"We go back and forth," she leant against the counter in the kitchen, watching as he spooned tea leaves into the pot. "He was grumpy tonight, bit my head off when I called. I guess it's reassuring to know things don't automatically change."

"Mmm," he leant down and kissed her, "go take your bath, I'll bring a cup of tea up. Did you take something for the head?"

"Yes, bout fifteen minutes since."

"And you ate?"

She bit down on her lip, "I ate a salad at lunch."

"You're terrible, I'll cook us something for after your bath."

"Come up and talk to me, won't you?" She said as she headed upstairs.

* * *

Charles set their mugs down on the floor by the bath, settling himself on the thick rug beside her.

"Any better?"

"A little, easing a bit."

"I'll make spaghetti; you have tins of tomatoes, some onions, we can cope with that."

"Plenty of chilli in mine."

"I know."

"And garlic too," she added.

"I. Know." He lifted his hand, trailed his fingertips in the water and over her chest. "Silky smooth."

"Do you have permission for this kind of behaviour, Mr Carson?"

He waggled his eyebrows, "Permanent pass."

"You hope."

"I do," his palm rested on the flat of her stomach. "How'd it go today with the houses?"

"Well, actually. They're done, can you believe it? After all these months! I just need to decide… you know; I'm leaning towards selling them. I got to talking to Tom –,"

"Oh?"

"We were discussing things and I just…"

"When?"

"This morning."

"How's Sybbie?"

"Are you going to keep interrupting me?" She smiled, "She's well, he says, anxious but well. Anyway, he popped into the office, we had coffee. We were chatting and I thought he's right, I don't need the stress of it all. I could sell them, make a quick profit and move on. My priorities have shifted, see…" she touched his hand, tiptoed her wet fingers over the back of his arm, pushing up the fine hairs on his skin. "I'd rather spend my weekends with you than work."

"Fair point, I am irresistible."

"Very true," she chuckled.

"Speaking of the weekend; what do you want to do Saturday?"

"Ohh I have plans."

His face fell, "Oh, okay."

"With the girls, I haven't seen them in forever it seems what with Spain and Scotland and you being ill…"

He squeezed her hand, "It's fine; what you doing?"

"Girly stuff – spa, waxing, massage, nails." She nipped his skin with one of hers. "Things you love. You could come get your eyebrows done."

"Don't ever mention that again."

"Becky's mentioned it ever since, every time she gets on the phone."

"Did you ask your father about Christmas?"

"Nooo…"

"And will you ask him?"

" _Maybe_."

"Elsie."

"We'll see how things go, baby steps."

"It's mid-September, he'll make plans."

"My father never makes plans for Christmas Day, he just turns up at my aunt's."

"Ask him. You're being chicken."

"Don't you want to be alone with me? We could spend all day naked in front of the fire. Or even better, I could prance around in the beautifully expensive lingerie you're going to get me and sky high heels."

"That's what you want for Christmas?" He asked incredulously.

She laughed, "No, but I wanted to plant the image."

"As desirable as the image is, let's save that for New Year, make Christmas a family day – that is, you don't mind that I've invited my mother?"

"Course not."

"She'd usually come stay at the flat for a few days, we eat out Christmas Day."

"She'll be okay sleeping here? She was okay in the summer."

"She'll be fine. Sorry I didn't ask."

"You don't have to. And besides, New Year, we're not going to Robert's party?"

"Well, here's the thing…" he tickled around her belly, "I was thinking that maybe we could start our own tradition, have our own party."

"Here?"

He nodded, "Is that too much?"

She huffed, "Well, it'd be a big job. Why not…" she shrugged.

"We don't have to. Forget it. Jumping the gun."

"No, I like the idea of starting our own traditions, it isn't that. But let's start with Christmas, let someone else have the stress and expense of New Year."

"Sounds fair. Your birthday though…"

"Oh god."

"I've just booked a table at a restaurant you like and invited your friends, okay?"

She smiled, "Yes, that sounds nice. And don't go buying things, spending inappropriately."

"I've already got your gift so there; I am ahead of the game."

"Smart arse."

He got to his knees, groaning as he did so and leaning over the side of the tub, "I am. I'll go start dinner, you won't be long?"

"I'll just rinse my hair. Don't forget Bake Off's on, I want to collapse on the sofa and watch it."

"Yes, yes. We'll eat quickly." Charles pushed on the side of the tub, getting up and gazing down at her. "You look stunning. I'm not meant to be this lucky, I keep thinking… something has to go wrong."

"Bloody hell Charles, don't say things like that. I was just thinking you were going to seduce me and then you altered the tone."

"I'll work on seduction over dinner. Do you want wine or will it be bad for your head?"

"Red, and I want to fall asleep like that," she snapped her fingers, "so maybe it will help."

"Maybe."

* * *

When Elsie came downstairs the kitchen was rich with the smell of homemade sauce. Charles, donning her very pink, very frilly, apron, was in front of the cooker humming to himself as he tasted his concoction.

"You look quite wonderful," she said, "you do know that apron was a joke gift from Beryl one year. Far too OTT, not at all my style."

He turned to face her, arms held aloft, "Look how well it fits me."

She chuckled, "Like a glove."

"I found some sausages in your fridge so I made meatballs, hope you weren't saving them."

"Only for you," she leant on the counter watching him cook. "Quite the little chef when you get into it, aren't you?"

"I wouldn't say 'chef', but I've enjoyed making dinner for you. Even if I have made a bit of a mess."

"Yes – how many pans do you need?"

"A lot, clearly. I'll clean it up, don't worry."

"We can do it together."

"You're feeling better?"

"Much. Relaxed too, and the tablets are doing their job." She pressed a kiss to his cheek, "I'll set the table."

"Right you are."

She paused as she laid out cutlery and napkins; it occurred to her as she did so that this could be the ideal time to ask him to move in. The room was ready, she'd finally got it looking how she wanted it and she'd fetched the pictures she'd ordered on Tuesday afternoon so they were now hanging in place.

Her plan had been to do the big proposal in grand fashion – get herself dressed up, chill Champagne, prepare a romantic meal. Maybe they didn't need that. Maybe she just had to ask.

They sat at one end of the kitchen table, at the corner of it so they could lean in close together and chatter as they ate. Charles lifted the bottle of wine and shook it, frowning as he poured the last of it into Elsie's glass.

"We finished the bottle."

She lifted her class and sipped it, smiling over the top of the glass at him, "We can share what's left." She handed the glass to him, "Dinner was lovely, thank you for doing that, it's nice to have homemade food." She trailed her fingertips over the back of his hand, toying with the cuff of his shirt.

"Nice to have somebody to cook for."

"Mmm," she glanced down at his feet – shoeless, yellow socks; how comfortable he was, how comfortable she was. Leaning forward she kissed his cheek.

"What was that for?"

"Being you."

"Alright." He handed the wine glass back. "All the front pages today have been about this couple breaking up."

She smiled, "Brangelina?"

"I don't know who they… no, that's wrong, they're actors, I know that. But I ask myself, why is it the front page of all the papers? There's countless atrocities going on around the world and we fill our minds with that."

She shrugged, "People like gossip I suppose. Maybe it's easier to deal with than these bigger issues – Syria, refugees, all of it. Sometimes it's easier to focus on the small things and fill your minds with that."

He turned his hand over on the table, feeling her palm press against his, "Don't ever leave me, will you?"

Her eyes widened expressively, "Where would I go?"

In his mind he turned over the idea of Scotland but kept it to himself, "Missed you this week, sleeping without you."

"I know, me too." She stared at him, pulling her bottom lip behind her teeth; now would be the perfect time to ask – holding his hand, feeling warm and close whilst the darkness of night surrounded their house. Their house, no longer hers.

"Would you mind very much if we had lunch with my mother on Sunday?" Charles asked.

The question shook her from her musings, "Course I don't mind," she took a last sip of wine and handed the glass to him. "I'll look forward to it."

He looked up at the kitchen clock, "It's a quarter to eight."

"Is it?" She got up quickly from her seat, "Let's do the dishes."

"Is there cake?"

"But of course, how can we watch Bake Off without cake?"

* * *

Elsie was curled on one end of the sofa when Charles came in with a tray carrying tea and two hefty slices of chocolate cake.

"Quick, sit," she said, accepting the plate from him.

"Yes," he took the other end of the sofa; Elsie shifted her legs, stretching them straight out along the sofa. He took the hint and moved towards the middle, lifting her feet into his lap. "What have I missed?"

"Not much, not yet, it's pastry week."

"Nautical look from Mary this week."

"She knows how to rock jeans and a jacket."

"She's my favourite," he said, pointing at the screen.

"Who, Mary?"

"No. Val. Yorkshire lass."

Elsie giggled, "Trust you. Is it raining?"

"Just started. That was good cake."

"You finished yours already? Beryl made it, obviously. She said I was looking skinny, I don't know how she works that out."

He rubbed her shins, "They'll think I'm eating your portions. My belly's returned."

"You know I like it." She wiggled her heels against his legs and he leant forward, putting his empty plate on the coffee table.

"That was good, good, good." He took her plate as she held it out to him and swapped it for her mug of tea. "Can I take a slice home with me?"

"Aren't you staying tonight?"

"It was entirely my plan. I meant take it home with me in the morning for tomorrow, my mid-afternoon snack."

"Have you brought your pyjamas?"

He waggled his eyebrows at her, "I haven't…lucky you."

"Damn flirt."

"It's these naked ankles in my lap sending me into distraction."

"You get massaging the tired ankles and look at Val's Danish pastries."

Chuckling, he turned his face to the television, "I'd prefer to look at your Danish pastries."

She missed most of the judges' comments through her giggling.

* * *

"Who's your money on then?" Elsie asked as she got to her feet.

"Hadn't thought," he stretched his legs, pushed his toes into the thick rug beneath the coffee table. "I'll have to give that some thought if we're going to put money on it."

"Think on it whilst I pee, and find something else for us to watch."

"You making more tea?"

"I will."

He flicked through the channels, "We're very domesticated now," he called out to her, "you noticed that?"

"Like two soft old fools," she called back.

"A year ago I bet you were out partying, not watching baking and drinking tea of an evening."

"Yeah, I was a regular disco diva."

"Not lost your rhythm?"

"Lost my sex appeal."

"As if. Do you wanna watch a film?"

"Sure," she came back into the lounge carrying two tumblers with ice in.

"That's not tea."

"Trying to get us out of our mid-week drudgery."

He watched her retrieve a bottle of whisky from the cabinet and lean over the coffee table to pour them both a decent measure.

"Still look sexy to me."

She tilted her head over and gazed at him, dramatically fluttering her eyelashes, "That's because I am."

Charles chuckled, leaning forward to take his glass from her, "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Do you miss it?" He asked, turning to face her on the sofa as she retook her spot at the other end.

"What?" She slid her feet back into his lap, "Don't stop tickling."

"Bossy." He pinched her toes.

"Ow," she dug her heel in his thigh.

"Ow back."

"You started it. What do I miss?"

"Doesn't matter." He sipped his whisky. "This is good."

"Do you mean, do I miss being single and sexy?" She giggled, "Do you think I'm bored?"

"No, as if you could be." He stroked the sole of her foot until she shivered.

"Tickle gently," she set her glass down, settling back on her pillows and gazing down at him. "I'm not bored sweetheart, I'm happy. Very happy." She shuffled her shoulders until the robe slipped a little. "Still sexy."

"Unquestionably."

"How are you feeling?"

"Comfy. Rainy night sitting here with you."

"I meant health wise."

"I'm fine, pills seem to be working alright, you know how I feel about taking medication."

"Don't you dare stop."

"Tickling or taking medication?"

"Both. Did you find something to watch?"

"I put the film channel on."

"Okay. And what about Bake Off winners? Shall we choose our top three and put money on it?"

"How much? You know I'm not a big supporter of gambling."

Elsie laughed, "Bloody hell Charles. Twenty pounds, let's go for that, won't break the bank. And my top three –,"

"Wait." He held his hand up.

"What?"

"You might influence my choices."

"Well you go first then."

"Then I might influence yours."

Elsie rolled her eyes, "Charles!"

"Alright, one of mine is Jane."

"I'm going Jane too; in fact, I'm going all women for this year's final."

"Really," he nodded, "I'm not, but I have to pick Val."

"Kidding yourself."

"My support for her is unwavering. I'll go for the ginger kid too; I think he's going to do well."

"Right, well my money's on Jane, Benjamina and the lipstick woman."

"Fair enough," he held his hand out, "shake on it."

She shook his hand, "Very serious Mr Carson."

"I am."

They both turned their attention to the film that was starting; Charles' hands had settled into a rhythm stroking back and forth across her ankles, fingertips tickling around the sensitive area. Elsie had rested back into the cushions, pulling the blanket from the back of the sofa over her body.

"I could eat some more of that cake," he said as the opening credits rolled.

"No."

"Spoilsport."

"Ohh this is connected to the Alien films, a prequel or sequel or something."

"That damn film with the slimy thing that scared me to death?"

She nodded.

"Bloody hell."

"You picked it darling."

"I didn't know."

She squeezed his forearm, "I've not seen it neither, let's see what it's like."

"She's a pretty girl," he said, pointing at the actress on the screen.

"Keep her in the fantasy section."

"Who's in yours?"

"I wouldn't mind fooling around with George Clooney."

" _Fooling around_?" He repeated slowly. "Elsie Hughes!"

"What? You asked. I have a fear though."

"Go on."

"Not that he wouldn't want me, of course he would, it's my fantasy – I'll look like Monroe to him."

"In the white dress? That era? You should wear that for the Halloween party." He leant back, stretching his legs again and grinning at the thought.

"Hey, it's my fantasy. Besides it's Halloween, excuse to get my witch's hat out of the wardrobe."

"And your broom."

"And my sexy little black dress…"

"Too many fantasies colliding at once. Brain can't cope."

She chuckled, "Okay, Clooney, so my fear is that he's sooo sexy, what if when he takes his trousers off there's not much going on down there."

She watched as his eyes widened and he stared at her, "Do women think on such things?"

"You're fooling yourself if you think they don't. You must talk about women with your friends; dating, sex, that stuff."

"When I was about nineteen, yes, not now. I wouldn't discuss our sex life – would you?" He suddenly asked aghast.

"No darling, course not," she said, placating him with her hand stroking his arm again.

"Mmm."

"What's your fantasy woman then?"

"Elsie Hughes. In a certain red dress dancing in Spain."

Her face softened at the words, "You're so sweet. I will wear the red dress again. I promise. Maybe I could forgo the witch's costume and turn the red dress into a devil outfit."

"Oh no," he pouted, "I want the witch. Save the red dress for me personally."

"Alright. I like your arms." She said, changing the topic.

"Here we go."

"I like the way I can see your muscles when you move. Your skin is still bronzed too from the holiday."

"Are you drunk?"

"Tipsy, maybe." She smiled, stretching like a cat, her legs bending, the balls of her feet resting on his thigh. She suddenly gasped, her feet jolting in his lap. "Oh god."

"What the hell? Nothing scary happened, and we've talked over it all so far."

She was scrambling as she sat up. "Bloody big spider on the wall over there."

"Where?"

"Near the curtain, get it Charles, so I don't have to."

He started sitting forward, "Goodness sake. Where's your slipper?"

"You can't kill it!"

"What? Why?"

"You can't. It'll make a mess for a start, it's massive. Catch it, put it in the garden."

"Catch it with what?"

"I don't know; your hands? A cup?"

He got to his feet, turning on the main light. "You're a pain at times. Woah, look at the size of it, you could get a saddle and ride it."

"See!" She shuddered, pulling the blanket higher over her shoulders.

"I'll need a bowl not a cup." He teased.

"Charles!" She snapped as he chuckled, passing by her and heading into the kitchen.

Elsie kept her eyes pinned to the blackness standing out against the cream of her wall, inwardly shuddering every time one of its legs twitched.

"It's still there," she pointed as he returned. "What did you get?"

"The bowl from the sink and a towel. Going to flick it into the bowl then toss it outside."

"At the back of the garden."

"Christ Elsie, it's raining."

"Neighbour's garden would be even better."

Charles grumbled as he gingerly approached the spider, "I don't much like them myself."

"Be brave for me, I'll cuddle you tonight."

"You always cuddle me regardless." He flicked the towel.

"That's because you're cuddly."

"Argh, god!"

"What? _What_?"

"Nothing. Got it," he tipped the bowl to show her, "nasty looking thing. Put the kettle on whilst I'm outside love."

"Okay," she knelt back on the sofa watching him take it out but not moving until the door opened and closed.

* * *

"How you feeling anyhow?" Charles asked once they were back settled on the sofa beneath the blanket. "After that talk with your father?"

"Alright," she sipped her tea, cradling the mug in her hands. "Better, I suppose. We didn't delve into anything but… but it was nice, to hear him say those things."

"When you came back into the kitchen I thought you were going to cry."

"I almost did. Hearing you laughing with Becky and my Dad, well, the pair of us reaching some sort of impasse. After all these years, all the bitterness and feeling so isolated."

She felt his hand heavy on her leg.

"Odd thing, to suddenly have if lifted, if only a little." She drank her tea. "I mean, he'll always be him and I'll always be me and we'll always clash in certain ways."

"There's no reason for you to doubt his love though."

"No, I suppose not."

"Have you done any more research into selling the farm?" He rubbed her leg again, sliding back her dressing gown so he could touch her skin, his hand closing over her knee as she bent her leg.

She nodded, "Of course, you know I can't help it." She sat up a little, more animated now as she spoke. "I've contacted a few agents and they're putting together a price guide, depending on whether I sell it as one whole or break it up into smaller bits, which I'm favouring at the moment."

"More money, I'm guessing."

"Precisely. I want Becky to be very comfortable, provided for, whatever happens."

"Understandable."

"I should get some numbers by the end of the week," she added, putting her empty mug aside. "And, do you think this is bad?"

"What?" He placed his mug beside hers.

"I already contacted the housing development, put a temporary reserve on that plot, on the bungalow. They said a week, and I practically had to beg for that, so I need to talk to Dad on Friday and try to firm up a decision – without pressurising him."

"I don't think it's bad at all, I think it's you being a smart businesswoman. Your father was impressed by that, I could tell, the way you handled yourself with that salesman, the fact you knew your stuff."

"Let's hope it works out," she stretched her legs out again. "We haven't watched much of this film, have we?"

"We keep chatting. Or disposing of spiders."

"Thank you for that darling." She leant forward, kissing his cheek. "My big hero."

"Less of the big."

"It could be big in a complimentary way."

"Could it now?"

"Of course." She slid her hand along his leg, "You wanna turn off the television and make out?"

"What does 'making out' entail?"

"Kissing me senseless and feeling me up."

"Sounds like a plan," he slid his hand into her hair. "You're like a magnet, drawing me in. That first night I met you, even then…kept searching for you, scanning every room. Magnetism."

She reached over him for the remote and switched off the television, sending them into semi-darkness.

Charles blinked, sharpening his vision as he watched her shrug off the robe and climb into his lap.

"That was lust, sweetheart. Pure and simple."

She kissed the base of his throat and he closed his eyes, his skin prickling at the sensation, heart fluttering.

" _Magnetism_." He said again, a hint of laughter to his voice.

Smiling, she trailed her kisses up his neck, her hands splayed over his chest as she moved her mouth tenderly over his skin. "What would you like me to do?" She whispered huskily.

He opened his mouth, breathed deeply, "Do?"

"Mmm," she kissed the corners of his mouth, "what would you like me to do?"

"As in… is this a game?"

"Game?" She chuckled, leaning back, shaking out her hair and looking at him. "Do you want to play some sort of game, Mr Carson?"

"Don't tease me."

"That's the whole point of this," she wiggled her hips. "Playing, teasing."

He coughed, clearing his throat.

"Are you embarrassed? Surely you know me well enough by now."

"Yes, but I'm not at all used to talking about it so openly."

"Sex?"

" _Yes_." The small word hissed as it passed over his lips.

"Making love…" she trailed her index finger down his nose. "You know what I like."

"Elsie…"

She smiled warmly, "You know what works."

"I know…" he licked his lips, "I know when you moan the most. Where you like me to touch or, how you…" he breathed again, "I feel foolish doing this."

"It's only me, no need to feel foolish." She pressed her pelvis forward, "I know what you like."

"That's easy. You doing anything at all."

They both laughed and she felt him relax, leaning back into the cushions. She moved with him, one hand in his hair, fingernails against his scalp as she pressed her mouth to his and kissed him deeply; his passion for her returned equally as he sank into the kiss.

"Love you," he whispered as her kisses moved down his neck again and to his chest; her smile glorious, eyes flashing momentarily as she glanced up naughtily to his face.

"I should hope so," she pulled on his shirt until he moved his arms and took it off, watching her face as her hands made short work of his trousers.

"Els…" He breathed deeply, eyes fluttering closed.

"Mm…"

She felt his hands slide into her hair as she touched him – tenderly, taking her time, listening to the sound of his voice, the beat of his heart, that steady, familiar rhythm.

* * *

With his trousers puddled around his ankles, Charles felt awkward, ungainly, and Elsie was laughing as he kicked his legs and tried to work his way loose.

"Stop giggling," he said as she sat beside him on the sofa, on her knees. "And come back here."

"My job is done," she quipped.

His large hands rested on her hips, "Heavenly woman," and he lifted her on top of him again.

"Is this where you want me?" She bobbed deliberately in his lap.

"Exactly," his hands slid down her back until his palms slid over her bottom, cupping it. "You're a beautiful, _beautiful_ woman."

She placed her hands on his face, kissed his forehead, the tip of his nose. Her thumbs brushed over his eyebrows, "Growing back."

"To how I like them." With one hand he deftly unhooked her bra, "Did you see that skill?"

"Practice."

"Good hands."

She took hold of one of them, kissing the palm, nibbling down his finger. "Or you've done it plenty of times before –,"

"With you," he interrupted, "my sex life has never been so abundant."

She smiled, touching her nose to his, "Darling…"

"I like the way you look at me," he said, his breathing deep, their bodies rubbing against each other's. "During…" he swallowed, groaned in the back of his throat, "when we're…"

"I know," she stroked her hand down his chest, over his belly and between their bodies. "Love you," she said, her mouth trembling against his.

"Love you too," he lifted her slightly, holding her tight as they found the right angle and sank together.

* * *

"Charles Carson naked on my sofa," Elsie said, her fingernails tracing patterns over his shoulders. "Naked between my thighs."

"Am I crushing you?" He asked, readjusting his weight above her.

"No," she looped her arms around his middle, "don't move, I like this."

"Me too," he kissed her head. "All cooped up warm and comfortable."

She lifted her chin a little, bumping her nose against his. "Cooped up?"

"Yes." He smiled, lips ghosting over hers, "You know what I mean. Happy to be cooped up."

"Like this, yes." She lifted her mouth to his and they kissed again, his chest pressed against her breasts, legs tangled, cushions piled behind her head.

Charles twisted a lock of her hair between his thumb and forefinger, "Your skin's flushed."

"Your fault. Sticky skin too, the lounge will smell of us."

"I like it," he covered her face in kisses until she giggled, and whispered huskily by her ear, "I'm wild again, beguiled again."

Elsie made a noise in the back of her throat, warm and soothing, "Couldn't sleep, and wouldn't sleep, when love came and told me I shouldn't sleep."

"Bewitched, bothered and bewildered, am I."

"That was lovely; I want to dance to it."

"You know I'm not much of a dancer."

"But you've got a way with words," she shifted a leg, feeling a pressure upon her bladder. "I need to move. Unfortunately."

"Alright," he pressed his hands into the arm of the sofa, allowing Elsie to shuffle out from beneath him.

"Oh goodness, stiff muscles." She groaned as she stood tall, stretching her arms above her head and straightening her spine. "This is old age."

"Middle age." Charles turned onto his back, "Tremendous view."

She snatched at his shirt from the coffee table and slipped it on, "It's cold, Autumn already."

"Soon be winter."

"Don't say that," she hurried off into the hallway, using the bathroom before turning up the heating and returning to him. "Do you want another drink?"

"Only if you're having one," his eyes were closed, propped up on the cushions and settled beneath the blanket.

Elsie watched him for a few seconds; it was good to have him there, it felt like home now, with him there, perhaps more so than before.

Opening the cabinet, she took out the bottle of whisky again and poured two measures, and then she opened the small drawer and took out the box she'd placed in there weeks ago.

"I have something for you," she said as she approached the sofa and Charles pushed himself up into a sitting position.

"Thank you sweetheart." He took the glass and sipped it, "Very nice."

Elsie sat on the edge of the coffee table, her thighs exposed in the shirt. "That wasn't what I meant."

"Something else for me? More than you've already given?"

Her eyes widened, "More than I've _ever_ given," she said, with a sudden clout of clarity. She held out the small box, "Here."

Charles put the glass aside, "Early Christmas present, is it?" He said, grinning.

Elsie bit down on her lip nervously, "Perhaps."

"It's a key," Charles said, lifting the silver item out, "for?"

She allowed herself a smile at that, "Where do you think, Charles?"

For a second he thought on it, held her anxious gaze, and then slowly smiled, "Here?" He asked hopefully and she nodded. "God Elsie," he pressed a hand to her knee.

"I planned it a while ago, before Scotland, after our holiday to Spain and I wanted…" she was breathless and her voice shook. "I wanted to do it right; after you collapsed, that awful moment of not being able to help you, just watching the paramedics and I – I kept thinking how much I need you in my life. Every day."

He nodded, "I want that too."

She smiled at herself, at the obvious nerves, "I wanted to spoil you; have a fancy dinner and dress up and ask you in the perfect moment but really, tonight, just being normal, this is the perfect moment. I want us to live together, and if you're willing, I'd like you to move in here, with me."

"My darling, nothing would make me happier."

They both leaned forward at the same time, arms coming around each other, Charles' glass dangling in the air behind her.

"Don't spill that on me," she mumbled into his shoulder, and then pulled back to kiss him.

"Goodness," he said, "I feel rather shocked."

"Have I surprised you?"

"Very much so, I thought this would take years to get to!"

She squeezed his arms, "Thanks very much." She suddenly got to her feet, an unexpected energy filling her body, "Come on, up, I want to show you what I've been doing.

Charles sagged back on the sofa, exhaling as he did so, "Elsie, I'm all comfortable here." He opened one eye, looked up at her with a cheeky smile on his face and held out his hand, touching her hip, "come get back on here with me?"

She slid her fingers around his, "Come with me and we'll get in bed," her gaze was warm, "I want to show you something." She bit down on her bottom lip, "Remember the paint?"

He lifted his head from the pillow, "What have you been up to?"

"Get your arse off the sofa and I'll show you."

"God you're romantic," he sighed as he wearily got to his feet, "what am I going to wear?"

"It's only me, stay naked."

"I bloody well will not, for a start it's cold, and I don't want my… my bits flopping about."

Elsie giggled, pulling the blanket from the sofa and wrapping it around his waist, "There you go; any flopping will be hidden."

Charles lifted his hands, pressing them against her shoulders, "Not sure I should be this lucky."

"Or me," she stood on her tiptoes to kiss him quickly, "but you are."

"Minx." He pinched her bottom and she yelped playfully, backing away from him.

"Race you."

He followed her up the stairs; taking two at a time meant he easily caught her up. Elsie waited by the door to the small bedroom, her fingers pressed against the door handle, an excited, almost childlike glint in her eye.

"Okay so I wanted to do something for you, to make you feel welcome here."

"I do feel welcome here," he said casually, leaning against the banister rail as he watched her.

"Well maybe, but as your home, I want you to feel happy this is your home."

He smiled, screwing his mouth to one side as his heart flooded with joy at the thought of her efforts. "I'll feel it's my home because you're here."

"Oh goodness… twenty years ago I would have promised to have all your babies for that line," she opened the bedroom door and switched on the light. "Come on. Charmer."

He followed her in, chuckling, pressing his hand to her back.

"Now…" she started.

"You've knocked down the wall," he interrupted.

"Well, yes."

"Elsie," he laughed, moving into the room, "look at this, just my style, look at the chair, leather chair. Foot stool. Bookcase. And the window," he pointed at it as he turned, ran his hand over the top of the desk positioned by it, "This for me to work at?"

"A-ha, get your computer there, you can look outside to the garden, there's a good view in this room."

"Tops of the trees."

"I know." She stood back, watching him look around; the oddity of him dressed like some Scottish highlander with his makeshift blanket-skirt.

Charles crossed over from one room to the other through the arch, squeezing the back of the leather chair she'd positioned there, a small table beside it for his drink, a lamp, a bookcase waiting for him to fill.

"Oh my goodness," he suddenly exclaimed, stopping and pointing at the wall. "Did you?"

She nodded, smiling, folding her arms and following his gaze.

"That's our picture, that night – the night we met." He stepped up close to the three pictures she'd placed along the wall. "How did you get it?"

"Robert. And then I did some editing to get rid of the others."

"Good idea," he shook his head, smiling at the middle picture, "we look sweet there. And you look beautiful in that last one."

"Thank you. I thought you could glance up from your chair, remember where you are." She said teasingly.

He turned back to face her, "As if I'd easily forget. I can't believe you took the wall down."

She shrugged, "I wanted you to have room, your own space. There's wardrobes in the other two bedrooms which you can use –,"

"You're a marvel," he said, coming over to her. "An absolute wonder."

She tilted her head, looked up to his face as he got close and his hands reached for her waist. "Am I?"

"Yes, in every way." He pulled her to him, "You just handle things, no fuss, no bother, you just do it."

She shook off his compliment, "You like the room though? Because you can change things, if you don't."

"Not gonna change a thing, I love it." He kissed her forehead, "I love you. And I'm grateful for this, it's such a kind thought. A generous thought."

She shrugged, "You were patient with me when other men wouldn't have been. Quiet. Supportive. And I love you for that."

"Elsie," he rubbed her arms, the warmth of her in his shirt, her legs bare, stood on her tiptoes as she came to kiss him. "My darling," he whispered against her lips. "I don't know how to thank you enough for this. It's above and beyond," he gestured around the room, "you've changed your house for me."

"I –,"

"No, let me, I truly didn't expect something so – well, such a gesture."

She rested her hands on his chest, "I think we've both made much bigger gestures, much bigger changes. Haven't we?"

Her eyes held his and he felt the pulse in her wrist against his chest.

He shivered.

"Oh dear," she rubbed his arms, "blanket not doing much?"

"Not really, let's get to bed." He lifted her off her feet before she had time to react.

"Oh goodness, you keep doing this."

"Mm, I rather like it," he jolted her in his arms, "you're as light as a feather."

"I feel like a star," she leant back, knowing he'd support her, and kicked her legs in the air. "From now on, I want to be transported like this all the time. Frivolous and superficial."

"Completely at odds with your true self."

"Take me to bed, Mr. Carson, I want to play."

"Again? I'm knackered!"

* * *

They lay in the darkness of the room facing each other, his hand on her waist beneath the sheets, her knee between his.

"When do you want to move in?" She whispered, a nervous excitement present in her voice.

"When you want me to. Tomorrow, if you're ready."

"Yes."

"Tomorrow then."

"Today – it's already today." She smiled.

"Well then, today. I'm already here."

"A-ha, just need to bring over your pants."

He chuckled, "Yes, we need to talk about other things too, practical things."

"Like bringing over your sofa?"

"No, like money, I want to contribute to things…"

"Charles."

"It's important to me. We split bills and things, share everything."

She placed her hand on top of his, "We will." She yawned, nestled in closer to his warm body, "I never thought, never imagined, I could be this happy."

"Me neither. Thought I was long past even looking for it, never mind being wrapped up nice and warm in it."

"That's a lovely image," she yawned again, lifting her hand up and tucking his hair behind his ear. "I've got to work tomorrow. Will you need help moving things?"

"No, I'll start packing; clothes tomorrow, then I'll sort my things. Figure out what to do with the flat."

"There's no rush."

He smiled, his chin resting against her hair, "Do you mean, don't get rid of it just yet, we might kill each other within a month?"

"Give it until Christmas at least, if we survive the stress of that we'll be okay."

"I can't wait for it," he kissed her head, "I can't wait for every moment with you, to share it all with you."

"That's lucky then…"

"Oh?"

"That you get to. Share it all with me."

He smiled, "What are you doing to my ear?"

"Tickling it."

"You're playing with the lobe."

"Is it turning you on?"

"Almost everything you do turns me on; I may be old but I'm still a man."

She giggled, "You're not old."

"You make me feel young." His voice was low, rumbling in his chest.

"You make me feel safe." Her fingertips moved from his ear, trailing down his neck until her palm rested on his chest. "And I never even knew I needed that."

He moved his head forward to capture her mouth with his, kissing her slowly and deeply in the twilight of the room. Her hand moved, skimming across his chest, coming to rest upon his belly. His arms stretched, gathering her to him and pressing tenderly against her back. Bodies coming together; comfortably happy together.

* * *

 ** _Hope you enjoyed catching up with them xx R_**


	27. Chapter 27

_I feel so bad that this took me sooo long to do. I feel guilty about it. But do know that I try to work on NYE every day – some nights I manage a few hundred words, others a few thousand. It's just the way it is, work is very busy!_

 _But anyhow, here they are, and I hope you enjoy and I thank you for all the support. x R_

* * *

 **Chapter 27**

 **Saturday, 8** **th** **October**

"Happy Birthday!" Charles trilled as he carried the breakfast tray into the bedroom.

Elsie rolled onto her back, pushing herself up on the pillows and simultaneously brushing her hair back from her face. "Thank you," she said sleepily. "What time is it?"

Charles put the tray on his bedside table and leant over to kiss her, "Just after nine. Sorry to wake you, but, well, if I'm honest, I was anxious to get on with the day."

She smiled, holding out her hand for her cup of tea, "What will you be like Christmas morning?"

"Up at six. Giddy as a kid."

"I believe that." She took a few sips, watching as he took his dressing gown off and climbed in beside her. "So, what have you made me?"

"Smoked salmon," he said, lifting the tray onto her lap. "Cream cheese, toast, capers, little bit of lemon." He kissed the side of her head, "And a winter rose."

"Oh, you're so lovely," she tilted her head around to kiss him, accepting the rose at the same time. "There's a lot here."

"Enough for two, perhaps."

" _Perhaps_."

They sat with the tray between them, sharing the breakfast

"God, I'm fifty-two," she said between chewing. "That's old, every year I'm closer to sixty."

"Don't say that, that makes me feel _really_ old."

She smiled, rubbing his leg, "Nice to have a birthday morning with you, instead of being on my own and sitting in the kitchen opening my cards."

"Shit, I didn't bring your cards up."

"Bugger that, where's my gift?"

He chuckled, "Does 'birthday' mean diva behaviour?"

She nodded, pouting, "Oh, all day long!"

"Okay, here we go." He brushed his hands on his napkin, "Let me get this then. Gift time." Getting out of bed he lumbered to the set of drawers that, over the past two weeks, had been designated his. "Hope you like it, I'm kind of nervous."

"I'm sure I will." She put the tray aside, breakfast finished, and Charles knelt on the bed beside her. "So, not my wrapping, I have to admit, I got them to do it in the shop."

"You really don't have to admit to things like that; just take the glory." She took the box from him, "Very pretty though, nice bow."

"Not entirely original… I couldn't think…"

"Charles," she said, her tone just slightly sharper, "just let me get into it."

He quieted then, watched her nimble fingers and polished nails as she untied the white bow and lifted the lid, taking out a smaller box and opening that.

"Oh my goodness, Charles, you went to Tiffany?"

He shrugged, "I guess so."

"Ah!" She yelped, suddenly increasing in speed as she opened the box, "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. It's so beautiful," she took the bracelet from the box, slipping it onto her wrist. "It's _so_ gorgeous." She leant forward, the bedsheets gathering around her legs as she knelt up and draped her arms over his shoulders, kissing him fully. "Thank you," she added more gently, "It's beautiful and I love it."

"I feel the same way."

"Darling," she kissed him again.

"Had to go all the way to Manchester for that, took the train."

"What a plotter, who would've thought."

"You really like it though? I don't know much about jewellery."

"I really do, it's wonderful. Far too generous but I love it so I'm keeping it." She giggled, fiddling with the little turquoise heart that hung from the silver bracelet. "Do we have a plan for today? Just so I can wear this and show it off."

"Yes, I told you, I'm on top of everything. I'm going to take a quick shower and then clear these breakfast things away. You get yourself ready, then we're going walking – which I know you're not so sure about but I figured I'd take you to one of my favourite spots, we'll walk, talk, and then go get cake."

"That bit I like."

"Head home, get changed, and then dinner with your friends. Except Tom, he's on baby watch."

"I know, he's so excited. Terrified but excited."

"I feel the same," he got up from the bed, "I'll go fetch your cards."

"Alright, can I have more tea? I'm going to laze here until you're done in the shower."

"Course. I'll bring it up."

"And where are we going for this dinner, you won't tell me."

"You'll see – somewhere you like, somewhere special."

* * *

"What was your favourite thing to do on your birthday?" Elsie asked as she jumped from one giant flat stone to another, arms out in the air to balance herself. "As a kid, you know."

"As a child? I was as boring then as I am now. Fishing. Or cricket. Or camping."

"I hate camping," Elsie groaned.

"That is no surprise." He followed behind her, smiling to himself as she played around hopping from one rock to the next; he doubted she'd worn those walking boots since Valentine's Day and that muddy treasure hunt.

"Why sleep on the ground when you can have a lovely, comfy bed in a nice hotel?"

"Get you closer to nature. Peace and quiet."

"Hot tub," she said, turning on her heels to face him, "and chilled wine."

"Bird song," he replied, "fresh air."

" _Naked_ hot tub… outside some luxurious log cabin somewhere secluded."

"You always have to win, don't you?" He closed the gap between them.

Elsie shrugged, "Was born that way, like Lady Gaga."

"Is she the odd woman who wore that meat dress thing?"

"Savvy businesswoman, I think," she draped her arms over his shoulders. "It's nice up here, you were right."

"See, I can be."

"Mm, you were right about us too." She pressed her mouth to his, sinking into the kiss, fingers tickling the back of his neck.

* * *

"I was talking to Tom," she said as they set off again.

"Oh? About?"

"Work stuff," she reached for his hand, squeezed it in hers as she walked. "You see, we got to talking, we had lunch the other day and –,"

"You never said."

"Didn't I? I'm sure I did. Well, we had lunch and we were talking. Because for years I've been trying to get him to work for me, of course I can't afford him, not really. It's just a joke we had. But he helped me some with my decision over these houses, and you know I've decided to sell."

"They're on the market already, aren't they?"

"Yes, and if I get even close to the asking price I'll make a pretty penny."

"Watch your footing." He gripped her arm, "Slippy here, getting close to the stream."

"Tom suggested that's what I do."

"What? Sell them?"

"No, I mean, full time. Quit with the rentals, buy land, build property, sell it on. After seeing the property Dad is going to, I figure I could do that."

"I'm sure you can."

"We were thinking we might… well, we might do it together. Go into partnership. I have the contacts, I can do the renovations, he can do the leg work – buying and selling, the legal side." She had no idea why she felt nervous about telling him this, "We'd need a new office, probably, not enough room for four of us in there. I'm quite excited about it all, actually."

"It does sound exciting," Charles said diplomatically.

"You don't approve of the idea."

"I don't disapprove, not that."

"What then?"

"I want to make sure you're safe, you know, fifty-two, want to make sure you're okay for the future. Not taking on something that's potentially a drain."

"I'm not sure my age has much to do with it," she bristled, despite her heart – it was still unsettling, having someone so entwined with her life. Somebody whose opinion mattered. "I wouldn't rush anything, and I'd protect myself – you know that, I'm not stupid."

"I know; that wasn't what I meant."

"I wouldn't sell all the houses I'm renting at present neither, to start with I'd use the money I'd get from these three. We've talked it through."

"So it seems."

"Are you jealous?" She stopped, turning to face him. "Is that it?" She sighed, "Charles."

He lifted his shoulders, "Maybe. Just a little mind. Maybe just that you are telling me now, after you and he have decided. Not real jealousy, not like… before."

"Oh," she couldn't fault him for that. "I didn't do it purposefully, to exclude you."

"It's alright," he glanced away to the view. "Look at those hills, already look frosty and its early October."

"Charles," she touched his hand, making him look at her, "I really didn't. This is all new for me, thinking ahead, not doing things without discussing them with you first."

"New for me too. Wouldn't change it though." He shrugged, "Sorry for being abrupt."

"No, you weren't, and I won't sign anything or do anything without discussing it with you. I just… imagine how wonderful it would be for Tom and Sybil, to make decent money, to provide a good life for their child."

"I know, I get that. You and he…"

"…Are friends." She stepped in close to him, "My heart is rather occupied."

"I know that too," he gripped her hand, leading her down towards the stream. "I need to make decisions too. This is a big one, for you."

"Almost as big as asking you to live with me."

He smiled, he could hear the gentle burbling of the water in the distance, the quietness of the earth.

"What's your decision concern?" She asked, following his gaze.

"Work. My business. Thomas is eager to take over, snapping at my heels."

"And would that bother you? If you did that? Let him take over. You've said he's almost running it anyhow."

He swallowed, felt her fingers rubbing his, "Yes, he is. But I'd feel slightly… redundant." He looked away, disconnecting himself from her, "Useless."

"You do know that's rubbish."

"Perhaps."

"Just because you're not running a business anymore –,"

"I know that, and I've lost interest in it really, I've slowed down, the passion I had for it is gone. But, and don't go getting all…the way you can get…"

"What do you mean by that?"

"When I say this; I'd feel like I was doing my bit."

She opened her mouth to reply, then paused for a moment, considering and as such she adopted a different tone, "You mean as a man?"

"I know you think that old fashioned. Stupid."

She bit her lip, "Maybe I do. In a way. But then I'm not you, I haven't lived your life." She curled her arm around his, cuddling in close against his side, breathing in the scent of him against the baseness of the wax jacket, "Maybe I selfishly hope you'll work with me."

He turned his head sharply; he hadn't expected that.

She shrugged, "It might work, mightn't it? You've a head for numbers that perhaps I don't."

"You, me and Tom?" He shook his head, "Not sure about that."

"Maybe not," she smiled, "But then who knows. Stranger things have happened."

Charles stopped abruptly as he boots squelched into the mud, "Oh shit, look at this."

"The stream's full." Elsie said, "Must have run over."

"Mmm," he scanned the ground, "ruining my plans. I wanted you to see how beautiful this place is."

"And I do."

"My favourite place to walk," he lifted his arm up around her shoulders. "I used to come here, when I was a lad," he exaggerated the Yorkshire accent. "With my father."

"That's a nice image."

"I spent most of my time with him, when I was young, hence the fact I was an old man before I reached twenty I suppose. No wonder the girls weren't all that interested."

"Their loss," she smiled, "silly things, don't know what they've missed out on. You still come here often? When you disappear off on your walks?"

"Quite, sometimes I change the route, can't go for as long as I used to."

"Oh I don't know about that."

He squeezed her shoulder, shaking his head. "Naughty. We can get that way, doesn't look so bad, might be able to find a way across." He let go of her and started forward, gingerly stepping on the sodden ground.

"Alright," she followed behind him, treading where his feet had fallen. "Charles?"

"Yes?"

"I don't want you to feel you have to leave things behind, like your work…"

"I don't feel that," he replied, glancing back over his shoulder to her. "I spent so many years living my life through it, it was all I had. For a long time, the only thing I had was work and I gave it everything. It swallowed my identity – I know that makes sense to you."

She gave a short nod, "It does."

He held his hand out to her, indicating for her to catch up. "Things have changed."

"Immeasurably," she slid her gloved hand into his, "But don't rush things, give it time. Too much changing all at once."

"Mm," he grumbled in the back of his throat as they got to the water's edge. "How we gonna do this then? I can walk across," he pointed down at his waterproofs and wellington boots. "Prepared. See."

"Don't start. Maybe I'll just have to walk back the same way I came."

"No, you can't."

"Why ever not?"

"Just… you can't. Maybe I can carry you – it is diva birthday, isn't it?"

She laughed, as he shrugged off his backpack and rested it on a rock.

"Carry me how?"

He turned his back to her, "Come on, climb on."

"A piggyback? I'm fifty-two." She laughed.

"And I'm fifty-seven, so be gentle."

Together they manoeuvred until he was holding her legs and lifting her up onto his back. He groaned and sagged exaggeratedly as she jumped up and yelped like a child in delight.

"Bloody hell," he complained.

"Oh piss off, I'm not that heavy, am I?"

"You'll have to carry the bag," he grabbed it from the rock and passed it to her. "Don't get shuffling about as we're crossing, otherwise we'll both be soaked."

She stuck her chin on his shoulder, "Right boss."

"You're enjoying this."

"Kinda fun," she squeezed her thighs against his side, "Go on then, get going."

He took his first wobbly step, boots sinking in the mud. "This is harder than I thought."

"Like relationships." She kissed his cheek, "Just take steady steps."

Chuckling he navigated the pebbled shore and then to the stream, visually measuring the depth and the amount of steps he'd need to take. Elsie wobbled on his back as he stepped into the water and he stood still for a moment until it settled about him and he felt steady.

"Love you," she whispered by his ear, and her voice surprised him.

"What prompted that?"

"You. Being wonderful. Carrying me across the water because clearly you've got some plan. For making me breakfast and buying me Tiffany and… loving me, showing me what love can be."

He twisted his neck to try and see her face, his hands in the crooks of her knees as he held her. "You showed me that too."

She kissed his nose, the only part she could reach, and he set off across the stream, the pair of them laughing as they wobbled precariously in the middle.

Once across it was only a short walk up the hill, a gradual return to civilisation as open land gave way to a path.

"National Trust took this section over," he pointed out as he opened the gate, "years since now. The path's good though, and there's a lovely café."

"We can get a cup of tea? Warm up?"

"We can."

They held hands again once on the path, and in a short time arrived at the quaint café nestled in the valley.

"So, I did something," Charles mumbled to her as he pushed open the door ahead of her, his hand on the small of her back.

"You did something?" She queried, but then turned her head to see the table set up for them; a huge bouquet of flowers, balloons and a birthday cake in the middle of it. "Oh darling."

"You have to have a birthday cake," he kissed the back of her head, guiding her to the table, "and they know me well here, they were pretty nice."

"Happy Birthday Mrs Hughes," an elderly gentleman said, coming to the table. "We did okay?"

Charles nodded, "Looks great. Glad they made it here in one piece," he said, indicating the flowers.

"We almost didn't," Elsie smiled, reaching for card perched next to the flowers. "Luckily Charles was prepared."

"He'd manage the route in his sleep," the man assured her, "shall I bring tea?"

"Oh yes please," she opened the card, reading the words to herself, " _If I had a flower for every time I thought of you… I could walk through my garden forever."_

"You recognise the quote?"

"Tennyson?"

"Correct. He's better with words than I am."

She pressed her hand to his, leaning across to kiss him, "The words are lovely, and this all is… I feel very spoilt."

"You should be, you made me feel that way on my birthday."

"Doesn't it seem an age ago, sunshine!" She smiled.

"Sometimes yes, I feel like we've always been together. Other times I think every day with you goes too fast."

"You're quite sentimental today."

"I know, not like me at all. Let's cut the cake," he said gruffly, sitting back in his chair and making her laugh.

"How are we going to get this lot back to the car?"

"We're almost at the car park; 5, 10 minutes, depending how fast we walk."

"I didn't realise we'd come so far."

"I cut some of it out," he handed her a plate. "There you go."

"Thank you dear. What time are we eating tonight?"

"We meet at seven. Time enough to get ready?"

"I should think so; this is good, I best not have too much, my new dress is fairly fitted."

He dug his fork into her slice, "I'll eat your share, my dress is not so tight."

She slapped his fingers away giggling and he rubbed icing on the back of her hand with his thumb.

"Stop it, we're behaving like children."

"Good job there's hardly anybody in here then," he said, waggling his eyebrows. "Did I ever tell you I can juggle?"

"Nope," she ate another forkful of cake. "Show me."

"I am without tools."

"Shouldn't a workman never blame his tools?"

"I'll show you when we get outside, find some pebbles."

She pushed her empty plate away, leaning in closer to him so her knees touched his, "When we get home," she whispered, trailing her fingertips across his knuckles. "I think we'll have plenty of time to _relax_ before my appointment at the salon."

"Oh?" He licked away the icing from his lips. " _Relax_ you say?"

* * *

Later, she might regret this position, perhaps she was too old for it, perhaps they both were. She wasn't as lithe as she used to be, nor as skinny, but Charles didn't seem to mind that. In fact, he worshipped her curves, his hands would linger on her hips, on her back, the pads of his fingers pressing into her warm flesh. He ground out her name between clenched teeth and she pushed her bottom back into his groin, rewarded with a yet another low, rumbling groan as he pushed forward.

One hand was on the headboard near her own; her fingers curled around the metal, pressing into it to hold her body upright. Her knees wobbled a little on the pillow but Charles was behind her, his belly pressed tight against her back, keeping her upright.

She moaned as she felt him inside her, how he moved, touched a sensitive spot. She let her head fall back, her hair brushing his shoulder, his mouth on her neck, her cheek; a smile upon her face as he worshipped her with his lips.

This was the first birthday on which she'd ever been in love. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, the air filling her lungs, leaving her body with a thrill of pleasure as he moved within her, as they moved in sync.

His whispered breaths of etched out words swum around inside her brain, like delicate tangles of web enveloping her, cradling her in their sentiment.

"You're so beautiful," a kiss to the very top of her ear. "The most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes upon."

She twisted her neck, seeking his mouth, and their bodies stilled as they kissed.

And then it started again; a steady, deep rhythm. The raw fragility of being with each other in this way. Need as ancient as time, almost primal, yet the deep pulsing within Charles' veins reminded him what it felt to be young and alive. She was as pure and fresh as any young girl he'd dated, more so perhaps; more intoxicating, more of everything.

"Oh I love you," she gasped, her body jerking forward.

He closed his eyes, held on as he felt her tighten around him; sweet joy flooding him with fire. "I love you," he heard the words leave his mouth in a splutter of lust and affection. His knees remained firm in the mattress, body strong as he leant forward, sunk deep inside her. "Elsie… I love you, I love you…" he mumbled, incoherently as the short seconds dragged languorously by.

After, there was the awkwardness of the position, the realisation of their naked bodies pressed together, flush with pleasure, in the broad light of the afternoon. The muscles in his back pulled tight and he groaned rather differently, chuckling as he pressed tiny kisses to her shoulders.

"Well, that was…nice," she said breathlessly, her pale skin flushed with blooms of red.

"Nice is not quite the word," he said, running his palms down her back. Her skin was slick with sweat, as was his. "I need to move," he admitted.

"Me too, my knees…"

"Mine too." He started to pull back.

"Just – oh," she lifted her head back, "slowly, that's not quite as nice as it was going in."

"Elsie!" He admonished.

"Just…honest…oh." She sagged forward, felt the warmth of Charles' body leave her as he flopped onto his back, naked and grinning on top of the bedsheets, his head at the foot of the bed.

She curled her legs beneath her, collapsed on the pillows gazing down at him at the other end of the bed, her knees tucked into her chest.

"That was rather daring of us."

He raised an eyebrow, "For a Saturday afternoon?"

"I mean in general, in the broad light of day, two oldies going at it…"

"Elsie…" he screwed his eyes shut momentarily as he heard her giggle.

She unfurled her legs, pressed her toes into his shin, "You staying down there?"

"I need to clean up," he reluctantly pushed himself up to sit. "Then a cuddle I think, time for a nap?"

She glanced at the clock, already lifting the bedsheets and climbing in. "Oh I think so."

* * *

Charles was asleep when Elsie left the house; she'd been curled up warm and content with him, his head resting against her chest as they held each other. She was pained to have to slip out of their bed and get ready to go out again – but he didn't stir when she lifted the sheets and escaped, so she left him there, naked and lightly snoring.

She decided to walk to the salon; it was less than twenty minutes from her house and it was a bright day, though summer was definitely gone from the air now. There was that added sharpness, like everything was more defined, crystal clear. And the trees were shedding quickly, Autumn had quietly crept in and before she knew it Winter would do the same.

Soon it would be a year since she'd met him. Complaining on that path, tripping her in the dark. A year since her heart changed.

"Elsie," the owner smiled as she went in, preceded by the jingle of the bell on the door. "Good to see you. Happy Birthday."

"Thank you," she unbuttoned her coat. "Quiet in here."

"Don't. It's been manic all day, we've only since quietened down. Do you want some tea? I'll get Emma to put the kettle on."

"I'd love one. Am I in my usual spot?"

"Yeah… Ooh, actually no, Sam's gonna do your nails so if you sit at her space and I'll do your hair at the same time if we can, if you don't mind."

"Don't mind at all."

"Just, we're squeezing you in before closing."

"I know. I'm grateful." She glanced at Cheryl in the mirror as she came up behind her, "I was thinking I'd just have my hair up."

"Of course, you want some height?" She pulled her fingers through Elsie's hair, "Kinda up here, like that?"

"Yes, and more of a fringe this time I think, to be different."

"Easily done." Cheryl let her hair down and rested her hands on Elsie's shoulders; they'd known each other for years, ever since the salon had opened Ms. Hughes had been a regular. "You look great."

Elsie's eyes widened, "Do I?"

"You do, you look great, glowing."

Elsie felt herself blush, remembering just where that 'glow' had come from. Instinctively, she pressed her hands to her pink cheeks.

Cheryl smiled, a teasing tone to her voice, "You've clearly had a good day so far. Look at the bracelet."

"Oh isn't it gorgeous?"

"I'm assuming this is from the new man you've told us about."

She leant back in her chair, letting the hairdresser section and pin her hair. "A-ha, and we've had a lovely day, I've been very spoilt."

"Good, only what you deserve. And this evening?"

"Dinner with friends, somewhere, it's a surprise."

"Another from him?"

Elsie nodded, reaching for her tea.

"Am I ever going to get to meet him in person?"

"Maybe, he's not the type to care that much about his appearance… no that's not right, I mean, he always looks good." She took a sip of the warm liquid. "He's quite old school, you know, he likes his barbershop."

"A rival?"

Elsie laughed, "Hardly. I'll get him here, I promise, even if he only just to pick me up." She thought of Charles sleeping soundly. "Not today though, I'll walk today – I think I need it after the cake I had."

"And the wine you're going to consume?"

"Something like that."

* * *

"Are you feeding that cat again?" Elsie said as she stumbled into the kitchen, slipping on her shoes as she did so.

"It's skinny."

"It's getting less so."

"I like him," Charles said, bending to run a hand down the cat's back.

"He's surly. He sits in my kitchen looking at me like I'm invading _his_ space – and he's eating my bloody tuna."

"This is why I like him. He's got a 'don't mess with me' attitude. Reminds me of someone."

She laughed, "Are you even sure he's a boy?"

"Oh we had that little detail confirmed a while ago."

"You've lived her a matter of weeks and you're charming stray cats in my kitchen. That cat has sat in my backyard for years and I've avoided feeding the thing."

"You didn't chase him off though."

"He keeps the mice down."

The cat flopped onto its back, letting Charles tickle its belly.

"It growls at me," Elsie said.

"You move too fast, you're always doing stuff, flitting about. I think he likes stillness, calm."

"And that's you, is it?"

"Well, exactly." The cat yawned and pressed its paw into Charles' hand, "I know mate, but I've got to go…"

"…Which means he has to go out."

"Elsie, it's cold out there."

"I'm sure he has a home. Or a nice fur coat."

"Hard woman."

"I don't want pee everywhere, or cat hair on my best coat."

"You know," Charles said, getting to his feet, "You look mighty beautiful in that dress. And with your hair all done like that; just beautiful."

"He isn't moving in."

"He could live in my little room."

"Your 'little' room?"

"You know what I mean."

She rolled her eyes, "Put him out, the taxi will be here and I need to drink and be merry to forget the fact I'm older and have more lines on my face and my body isn't working as well as it used to."

He caught hold of her waist, "Oh, I don't know. Seemed to work pretty well earlier."

"Mm," she pressed her hands to his shoulders, lifting her mouth to his. "Will you dance later? After dinner?"

"Absolutely not, but I'll happily watch you do it."

"It's the dress, right," she stepped back from him, moving her hips, "bit clingy."

"A bit all types of wonderful."

She laughed again, moving her hips as she slid into his arms again and kissed him passionately. "I love having you here. Even if I do have to wake you up in the middle of the afternoon."

He rolled his eyes, "You wore me out. And I love being here."

"Despite me not doing the recycling to your standard?"

"Let's not have that fight again."

"I like to think of it as more of a discussion than a fight." She straightened his collar, "And we have rules now."

"Yes, _you_ don't do the recycling."

"I can't live up to your standards; it's safer if I don't."

He shrugged, let go of her and picked up her coat from the table, "Let's get this on and get going. And I like doing that job, gives me something to do."

"You mentioned that a couple of times today; are you really feeling so desolate?"

"No," he kissed the back of her head as he slipped the coat on, "not at all. But –"

She turned quickly, concern in her voice. "But what?"

"Nothing. It's nothing. Let's go, I want you to have a good time."

"I'm sure I will. I've had a wonderful time all day. But you would tell me, wouldn't you, if something was bothering you?"

"Of course."

* * *

He's booked her favourite restaurant, and the place they had their first date, officially anyhow. And she feels so content, so happy, as he pays the taxi fare and she waits patiently on the kerb. The night is clear and dry, which she's grateful for, and the sky is sprinkled with stars.

"Ready?" He asks, turning to her, pushing his wallet into his jacket pocket.

"We're late, they'll be moaning."

"Diva rights," his hand is on her back as they go in, his other hand reaching to push open the door before her and she does indeed feel a little like a diva.

The others are already at the table when they arrive and they break into polite cheers and a round of applause as the birthday girl finally makes an appearance.

"Alright, alright, don't blame me." Elsie says, shrugging off her coat and feeling Charles take it from her. "Somebody had an afternoon nap."

"Don't tell the world I'm an old man," he chuckles, handing their coats to a waiter. "I asked for a round table, see, because you always complain –,"

" – That you can't talk to everybody at a square one, rectangular, and you can't. Nobody has drinks," she stated, moving around the group and kissing them hello.

"We waited for you," Isobel said.

"Aren't we the polite bunch?" Beryl teased.

"I have a feeling…" she kissed Beryl's cheek, "…that Izzy made you."

"She might've. We've all picked our food though so come on, get looking. You sitting down Mr. Carson?"

"I am yes, let me just… I'll take a photo before I do, for her. You all together."

"You ought to be in it too old man," Richard said.

"I will, let me just get this," he snaps quickly on his phone before going to sit next to her.

"Shall we order drinks?" Elsie said as she patted the back of Charles' hand. "Anyone fancy sharing some wine with me?"

"No need, Ms Hughes," the waiter said, drawing her attention as another brought out two ice buckets.

"Champagne?"

"Mr Carson ordered it when he booked."

She tapped his fingers with hers, "That's very kind of you."

"Very kind to _all_ of us," Beryl said, lifting her empty glass to him, "Well done that man."

"What did the birthday fairy bring you anyhow?" Isobel asked, sitting beside Charles.

Elsie pressed her palm against her cheek, smiling and giving them a good view of her wrist, "A little something."

"A little something from Tiffany I see," Beryl reached to grab her friend's arm. "It's gorgeous."

"I know, I'm very lucky. And we had a lovely walk, and cake and flowers and balloons. I've been spoilt."

"And your nails look fab too," Isobel noted and Elsie wiggled her fingers, showing off the manicure.

"This is when he napped, when I was out."

Charles put his menu down, "I think I've decided."

"Didn't you have your first date here?" Isobel asked. "You two."

"We did, way back in January."

"January the 23rd, to be precise," Charles pointed out.

"His memory is amazing," Elsie said proudly.

"Some things are worth remembering…"

She smiled gently at him, "Shall we order food?"

"Yes, then tell us about your Dad and this house business." Isobel said.

"I can't believe he's going for it." Beryl said. "And they've got lobster."

"Oh my goodness, on special?"

"Yes."

"Well that's it, that's what I'm having." Elsie closed her menu, "Lobster and Champagne, how very decadent of me."

"We'd expect nothing less from Elsie Hughes," Bill chuckled, lifting his glass, "We should have a toast."

"Definitely," Beryl said, lifting hers too.

"Happy birthday, to the inimitable Elsie; we all love you."

Elsie pressed her hand dramatically against her chest, "Oh, I love you all too." She heard Charles chuckling, "Today I'm allowed to embrace my inner diva."

"You don't do that every day?" Isobel teased.

"Every other day now, because I'm older and it's tiring wearing the diamonds and having the hair and make-up done all the time."

"I know, and the lighting guy who follows you around –,"

"– to make sure my best side is always on display." She watched Charles lean back in his chair, laughing ruefully into his Champagne glass. "What?"

"Nothing, nothing. Just the craziness."

"You have to embrace that Charles," Beryl said.

"I think he already has," Elsie laughed.

"And where's Anna tonight?" Richard asked, "I only came in the hopes of spending some time with that beautiful girl."

Isobel slapped his arm.

"I think you'll pay for that later, Richard," Bill refilled his Champagne glass.

"I did ask her," Charles said, "she was already away with her boyfriend."

"She took a few days off; she's carried me a lot lately." Elsie added, "So, my Dad."

"The sale's going through?"

"Things have started moving, I was shocked somebody snapped it up so quickly." Elsie said.

"I'm not, it's a beautiful spot."

"Did you enjoy visiting, Charles?" Beryl asked.

"I did. It was really lovely, great to see where she grew up. And meeting Becky, that was important, for me."

"How's she taken it, Elsie?"

"She's okay, I think… well, I don't think she quite gets it yet. It won't be easy, it's the only home she's ever known. But she can still do the same things, go to the same places. If anything, her bus journeys will be shorter; they're closer to town."

Charles reached to touch her hand discreetly, "I'm hoping they'll come for Christmas."

"Here?" Beryl said, "That _is_ a turnaround. Huge leap forward… thank God."

"I haven't asked yet, but I will, next time I'm there."

"You're going up again?" Isobel asked.

"I'll have to, I want to meet the solicitor, go over details for the new house, arrange packers – god the packing! I reckon I'll need a month to clear through all of the rooms and…" she suddenly stopped, her throat tight. "Oh goodness," she hastily wiped the corner of her eye, "I'm sorry, I've no idea why I just…"

"It's alright," Beryl said, "We understand." She took a bottle of Champagne from one of the ice-buckets and refilled Elsie's glass, "Have another drink."

"Meant to be a celebration," Elsie said, feeling Charles' hand move gently across her back. She took a gulp of the chilled liquid, "Okay, I'm over that now. Let's have a good time."

"Cheers to that," Beryl tapped her glass against Elsie's. "And dancing later?"

"Nobody mentioned dancing," Bill said. "False pretences."

"I actually never organised dancing," Charles insisted.

"Tradition darling," Isobel said, "We'll go to the club."

"I'm too old and too grey for a club," Richard chuckled.

"It's not that kind of club," Elsie said, "it's small, more like a jazz club but it isn't all jazz music. You can dance, and, most importantly, they do a cracking G&T."

"Many kinds too," Beryl said, "and cocktails."

"I feel this is a thing for the females around the table," Charles said.

"Oh but darling you'll go, won't you?" Elsie's voice was light as she leant across, her fingers trailing over his arm. "For me, on my birthday?"

"He's hardly going to risk saying no to that now, is he?" Beryl laughed.

"He most definitely is not." Charles whispered.

* * *

They walked to the club, it was only ten minutes and, thankfully, the evening wasn't too cold.

"You don't mind really, do you?" Elsie asked softly as she clung onto Charles' hand at the back of the small group. "We won't stay too late."

"Course not, it's your birthday, we do what makes you happy."

"Thank you… You don't have to dance."

"Thank goodness, don't want to scare anyone."

"You danced in Spain."

"Quite a different matter."

He let her walk before him as they went in; watched as she was greeted by the manager with a kiss to each cheek.

"This is Charles," she said, turning and reaching for his hand, pulling him forward. "This is the manager, Liam, he's known the three of us a while."

"Very nice to meet you," Liam shook Charles' hand and his grip was tight and strong. "You're a lucky man."

"Oh I er… I know." He spluttered, smiled, and then followed Elsie through from the entrance to the bar. He realised, as he watched her lean across to say hello to the two bartenders, that there were still plenty of things he didn't know about her life. Plenty of experiences and traditions he wasn't yet part of.

It wasn't a huge place but big enough for the small groups gathered in there; mostly middle age, he noted thankfully. There was the small bar to one side, a fair-sized dancefloor and then tables around the edge, a tiny stage at one end. Intimate is what he'd call it.

Elsie bought a round of drinks and for a while they remained where they were, chatting by the bar and working their way through a fair amount of Gin.

"Time we danced," Beryl suddenly announced, one hand on Elsie's, the other on Bill's, as she led them both out to the dancefloor.

Isobel and Richard followed and Charles shifted to the end of the bar, sipping his drink and watching as Bill twirled the two ladies about as if they were both his date. He wondered how often this had been the case; Elsie tagging along to evenings out with other couples. Bill swung her round, bent her backwards and leant over her and she played the part, the damsel overcome with emotion as she swooned. The three of them were giggling and it made him laugh along with them.

When she sauntered towards him he bit the inside of his cheek – he knew what this meant, she wanted him to join them.

She stepped past him, reached for her glass that was behind him on the bar and emptied the contents in one long drink. Charles put his empty glass down beside hers.

"Shall I order more?" He asked.

She stood on her tiptoes, draping her arms across his shoulders, "You make me happy," she stated. "Not fancy gifts or dinner or dancing. Just you."

He felt his lips curl into a smile, then she was kissing him, passionately, deeply, and he'd never been kissed in public like that before. The entire world knew what was between them. Well, those present in the club anyhow.

The old Charles would've been embarrassed; shying away from it, or letting it end quickly. But he found his arms ached to hold her again, his hands eagerly pressed to her back and the kiss deepened again. Vaguely, he heard Beryl's voice and laughter. He played along, lifting her body until her feet left the floor and she was giggling into his mouth.

When he put her down again her eyes were sparkling with happiness and he felt the same look must've been reflected on his own face.

"Dance now?" She asked, and he let her lead him out onto the dancefloor.

* * *

She kicked off her shoes just inside the door, standing in the darkness of the hall with just the light from outside illuminating her surroundings.

By the time Charles had paid the taxi and come inside her coat was hung up and she was inching her stockings down her legs.

"Why the hell you still in the dark?" He said, locking the door behind him.

"Because. Didn't want any moths coming in."

"You really don't like bugs," he hung his coat, turned when she tripped over her shoes. "Here," he turned on the lamp that stood on the side table. "Now you can see. Are you a little drunk? A drunk birthday diva?"

"Nooo," she turned her back to him, hands on her hips. "Unzip me."

He was smiling as she backed into him, and he lifted his hands to her bare arms, leaning forward to kiss her exposed neck before slowly pulling the zip down on her dress. He kissed the smoothness of her back as every inch was revealed.

"Earlier…" she said.

"Mmm?"

"I've had such a good day."

He smiled.

"A really, _really_ good day. Thank you."

"Any time."

She turned in his arms, her hands reaching up to press against his shoulders, "Take me to bed."

His kind eyes were gentle, "Any. Time."

* * *

"I'm not really drunk," Elsie insisted as she unhooked her bra and watched Charles sit on the side of the bed to remove his trousers. "I didn't drink quite so much."

"I know; I think you danced it off."

"I think so too." She stood before him with her hands on her hips, "Aren't you taking those off?" she asked, a finger pointing forward to his briefs.

He waggled his eyebrows, "Do you want those off?"

"Well, I'm not sure we'll have as much fun with them on."

He chuckled, "Fun, is it?"

She moved forward, her knees nudging his, "Oh I think so. Just a little." She pressed a hand to his chest and pushed him back on the bed.

"That's what I'm here for. A little bit of fun."

She was laughing as she clambered on top of him, pushing his hands up and back as she leant down to kiss him deeply. Her breasts pressed against his chest and his fingers itched with the need to touch her.

"You're teasing me," he said lowly as she pressed kisses to his face.

"It's my birthday, I'm allowed to tease."

"Technically it isn't your birthday anymore… but you can tease anytime you like."

She sat back, her knees pressed either side of his body, hands flat on his chest as she glanced to the clock. "Oh it _is_ over."

"Don't pout," he reached up to the strand of hair hanging loose from the pins, "my beautiful woman."

"I never thought I'd ever want to be anyone's woman."

"I don't mean it in a possessive way."

"I know."

"I know you don't want to…" he paused, turning the words over in his mind. "To be owned."

Her mouth quirked at the side, a half smile, eyes heavy and dark as she gazed down at him, her hips already moving very slightly of their own accord – to tease him; to please her.

"I didn't say no," she said, her voice full and warm, luxurious as it curled around him. "I just said 'not now'. There's a difference."

He felt his face lighten, features brighten with a smile, "A huge difference."

"Hold out your hand," she instructed; and he did so, laying his palm open in the air between them.

She reached up, slowly taking each pin from her once neatly styled hair and placing it on his hand. He waited patiently, watching earl curl of hair as it sprang free and framed her face. Once done, he closed his hand around the hair pins and she shook her hair loose.

"Better?"

"You look good anyway, every way."

She held her hand out and he tipped the pins into her palm, watching as she leaned to the side to place them on the nightstand; the movement of her breasts, the white skin speckled with freckles, the press of his thumb against the fleshy part of her hip.

"I need to take my make-up off," she said as she moved back, breasts bobbing, hair skimming his legs as she leant back, stretching.

He reached up to cup her breasts, and she was smiling as she leant forward again, "Charles…"

"Don't go anywhere yet. Stay here with me."

She brought her mouth down to his and they kissed for long, slow seconds. His arms tight around her now, holding her like a precious, priceless moment of forever. Her hand reached down between their bodies, fingers delicate as they felt for his erection and guided him inside her. He groaned her name into her mouth which made her heart thump even harder.

The afternoon had been fiery and overflowing with passion; this was slow and tender. Framed by the faint light of the bedside lamp, and the soft pleasurable murmurs coming from their mouths.

"I don't want this to ever end…" He said, gazing up at her, feeling like he had the world in his hands.

She smiled down at him, slowly, ever-so-slowly, leaning her body forward so they could kiss.

* * *

Elsie was lying on her side facing the door, it wasn't usually her side of the bed but it was where they'd fallen and where they'd remained. Charles' arm was over her waist, his palm on her stomach.

"It worries me, sometimes…" She said.

His eyes were closed when she spoke, his brain fuzzy, heavy with sleep. "What does?" he asked, his tongue too big for his mouth. He licked his lips, opened his eyes and blinked into the darkness. The back of her head was close to his mouth and he was warm and content, his arm heavy over her body.

"How quickly this has gone, with us. So much has happened in one year. Not even a year."

He blinked again, spreading his fingers wide over her belly, pressing the pads against her skin. "Does the time matter?"

"You never struck me as somebody to rush into anything."

"I never met you before."

She smirked, "That was a good answer."

He pressed a kiss to the back of her head, holding her tighter against him. "It doesn't matter. We're still finding our way, we'll make mistakes, we'll argue like crazy folks – I'm sure of that. But I like learning about you, every tiny bit of information, like soaking it all in."

"I like learning about you too." She rubbed her hand over his, "I feel safe with you –,"

"–But you're worried that…?"

"That it'll be gone, I suppose. That we can't sustain it. You said you never want it to end – what if it does? What if we mess it up?"

"Nonsense," he kissed her again, closed his eyes, "nonsense."

"I've never been so open before. Never let anyone share any part of me, not the real parts."

"I know," his voice cradled her, his arms surrounded her. "But that's what love is. It's what we have. I've never had a best friend, not even as a child. Now I have."

She pushed forward, turned over to face him, her fingers finding his shoulder as she leant forward and kissed his gently. "I do love you."

"I love you too," he looked at her in the darkness. "But darling, I'm exhausted."

She giggled, "Alright. I'll go to sleep." She cuddled up against him. "This is what happens after a night out… my mind thinks too much."

"Mm," he held her close, pulled the quilt over her shoulder. "Go to sleep." He sighed, "Peaceful slumber."

* * *

They were woken by the buzzing of her phone at 4:25 a.m. exactly.

* * *

 _Let me know what you think; I appreciate it x._


	28. Chapter 28

_When I first started planning this story I wrote parts of this chapter and saved them – they've been on my computer since about March! I knew I had to face the inevitable sadness of this event but I wanted to try and see it through Chelsie's eyes, outsiders really to the real grief, but nevertheless deeply affected by it. This chapter covers about a month in their relationship. I promise I will move on to more positive things :-)_

* * *

 **Chapter 28**

 **Sunday, 9** **th** **October**

Elsie doubted she'd ever moved so fast in her life. The hospital was virtually empty, the lights severe after the darkness of the outside. She had no idea how they'd gotten there, only frantic memories of a hurried phone call, of finding clothes, Charles driving, the early morning frost.

Silence between them.

And suddenly they were there. Charles with his hands in his pockets, his gruff yet somehow soft voice requesting information as she shuffled about nervously, impatiently, beside him. Then her heels; the shoes she'd kicked off in the hallway hours earlier, now clattering awkwardly, ill-fitting for the sombre surroundings.

She wrapped her cardigan tighter around her and followed the signs.

She knew they were in the right place as Cora's sobs echoed around the corner of the austere white corridor. It took all her strength not to crumble; she was no mother but that didn't mean she lacked maternal instinct or human warmth. Somehow she found the inner steel, pulled her chest tight and locked away all her emotions before she took the corner.

The family were together. Cora in Robert's arms, Edith behind them, tears pouring down her face as she rubbed her mother's back; Mary to one side, leaning against the wall, a hand over her mouth. And beyond them, alone, Tom slumped in one of the green plastic chairs.

She passed the family, tried not to look at them because she didn't know how to look. She headed directly to the man who'd been her friend for so many years.

His hands were in his lap, his head down but he wasn't crying. His face was pale, his fingers knitted together. She was close before he even noted her presence, glancing up, catching her eye for a second and then his arms desperately grabbing her legs and pulling her to him. Clawing at her for something to hold on to, something unshifting. He buried his face against her stomach and cried.

Trembling she reached around his back, holding him tight, leaning awkwardly forward as he gripped her like a toddler seeking comfort and his agony howled into her body, muffled against her clothes.

For a second she looked away, back along the hallway to where Charles stood watching and her eyes filled with heat; she blinked away her tears as she watched his tumble down his face. That broad huge man silently crying.

Oh, god there couldn't be anything worse than this.

* * *

For many seconds, she turned words over in her mind, trying to find a way to communicate, to somehow manage to form something coherent in amongst all this grief.

"Tom," she finally breathed, the slightest hint of the word. "Tom…" A little louder this time and he shifted his head, a slight jerk to show acknowledgement he had heard. As he lifted his head back she felt how sodden her thin shirt had become, how suffocating it was in the hospital. "Tom where's the baby?"

He looked up at her, "They took her… unit," he muttered.

Elsie knelt then, looking squarely at him. "Do you want to go see her?"

He frantically shook his head, "I can't…"

"Listen," she gripped his shoulders, "this is the most devastating, most awful heart wrenching thing that could happen, I know you can't… But there's a baby, your daughter, alone somewhere with strangers and you… you need to be there for her."

"It's not far," she heard a small voice say. "I'll go too."

She felt her knees creak and complain as she got back to her feet, and realised Mary was close to her now.

"Thank you," she held the young woman's gaze for a moment; there were no tears, only quiet resolve.

"Tom," Elsie said, holding out her hand.

He took it, held it tight and she pulled him to his feet and together they followed Mary's straight, slim frame.

As she passed Charles she let her hand brush over his, just momentarily, and then she was gone – the sound of her heels retreating away.

He snuffled, dug around in his pocket for his handkerchief and roughly wiped his nose.

"I need to be with her," Cora said to Robert. "She's my baby and I need to be with her. We can't leave her alone."

"Yes. We will… I'll find someone," Robert said, trying to hold himself together. He looked to Charles, seeking help.

"I'll find somebody," Charles offered.

Robert nodded, "Sit, Cora, for a moment."

"Mummy…" Edith's voice was muffled, and Charles went to her, laying his hand on her back. "Why don't you come with me, my dear, help me."

* * *

When dawn came, Elsie was by the window, her forehead pressed against it as the sun dared to show itself; sorrowful streaks of light breaking through the clouds. It was an October morning, full of soft oranges curling around the edges of the day, giving way to the sharp clarity of the autumn month.

Behind her she heard a gurgling, and turned to find the baby kicking her feet beneath her blanket. The room was still, seemingly silent, but then perhaps that was because Elsie had drifted off – caught somewhere between exhaustion and feeling ineffectual. As she tuned back there was more than the murmurs of the baby; the rhythmic beeping of the machines, the light sleep of Tom in the hospital bed and beyond it, the hospital unfurling for the new day.

With heavy aching feet, she plodded to the side of the cot and lifted her finger down to the tiny one's face. The baby gazed up at her with wide eyes – bright, pure, unknowing.

"Poor wee thing," she said, and she heard her Grandmother's voice in the room, a vague memory of Becky being born and her Gran visiting the farm. ' _Runt_ ', that was the word her Grandpa had used, and it had stung Elsie, sharply. She'd hated him from that point onwards, though they'd never been all that close anyhow.

"There, there," she soothed, sliding her hand beneath the child's back. The thin rattle of her breath, the feel of her lungs working, the steady pulse of her heart. "You're beautiful, do you know that?" She said, and easily lifted the baby into her arms, rearranging her until she was settled against her breast. "Comfier there."

The baby twitched, blinked up at Elsie, and then settled again closing her eyes.

Still holding her, she moved back to the window.

"Isn't this nice?" She whispered, "It's going to be a nice day, see. See all the birds, there, they want their breakfast. Do you want your breakfast, is that why you're awake?" She dropped her head forward, kissed the baby's forehead. "Let's see about it, shall we?"

She was startled when she turned and noted the others in the room; Cora staring at the child in her arms, Charles behind them, his back against the door, cheeks red, shirt collar open. She hadn't realised how much she'd missed him until that moment.

"We'll need to find her a nanny," Robert said practically. "Somebody to look after her when we bring her home."

Elsie instinctively felt her arms cradle the baby tighter.

"Perhaps Tom will want…" Edith started but Mary cut in.

"Of course he'll want to decide, don't be so stupid. This isn't the 1950s Dad. Tom is her father, he'll want her."

The man in question rolled onto his back, rigid as his eyes opened and reality returned. His mouth opened and his face crumpled in pain, and Elsie wondered how many mornings he would have to go through that – the pain of knowing she was gone.

"Do you want to hold her?" Elsie asked, looking at Cora.

There was the slightest nod of the head and then she was next to her by the window, Elsie handing the baby across. She stepped back from them and across to the other side of the room, giving them space.

Tom glanced sharply at her, panic in his face, so she went to him, sat beside him on the bed and squeezed his hand.

"We should leave you…" Charles muttered and she saw Robert nod.

"If you need me," she said to Tom, "you just ring and I'll be here. Or if you want to stay…" she stared into his eyes, trying to send her meaning home – he wouldn't want to return to their home, not without Sybil. "I can go round, get things you need. Clothes, your things for the baby, perhaps –,"

"She had it all prepared, see." Tom said. "All those… nappies, piles of them in the spare room, clothes in the little wardrobe and bags of… bags of stuff ready. She was prepared for everything."

"I can get those; I have my key."

He nodded. "I can't go back."

"I know. There's no need. We'll go now." She let go of his hand and got up again, hooking her handbag over her shoulder. "Once you've spoken to the Doctor, or whomever you need to, call me then."

"I will, thank you, for being here."

"Where else would I be?" She kissed his cheek, "Oh my darling…" and squeezed his arm.

* * *

She had to almost jog to keep up with Charles as he strode through the car park, his long legs carrying him away as she searched in her handbag for the parking ticket and loose change with which to pay. The morning was unwelcomingly pretty and frosty with it, and she shivered as they got into the car; Charles' slammed door emphasising the silence.

He groaned, in both despair and exhaustion, dropped his head forward and for a moment rested it on the steering wheel.

It was Sunday morning; they should have still been sleeping, cuddled up and warm and all right with the world. Now there was this pain.

She stretched her hand out and touched where his fingers wrapped around the wheel, he remained still, and then her phone rang again.

"Dad, hello…" she said, disorientated, "yes, yes I know." She closed her eyes, counted to ten, "…I know, and I will get onto them again. But, listen Dad, something horrid has happened and I can't talk right now." She paused again. "I'm fine." She kept her hand over Charles' as he sat up. "Charles is fine – it's friends of ours. Yes. I'll ring later today when I'm at home. Alright. Bye."

She put her phone away. "He sounded stressed."

"I didn't know you had a key."

"Sorry?"

"For Tom's house."

"Oh, of course, just in case. He has one for mine… ours, too."

She watched his eyebrows rise.

"Fancy suggesting a bloody nanny," she huffed, flopping back in her chair and pulling on her seatbelt. "Of course he won't want that."

"It's just their way; all the girls had nannies."

"That may be but Tom will want to raise his child himself."

"Will he? With Sy…" He stopped, his throat tight. "With Sybil gone?"

She softened her tone, "Why wouldn't he?"

He shrugged, "Different state of affairs now isn't it, different playing field."

"He'll be a good father, you're not worried about that, are you?"

"Not my place to worry."

He started the engine and she kept her eyes fixed on his face – he looked very grey and very tired. A million miles away from the man she danced with the evening before.

"Do you want to go have breakfast somewhere, or shall I make eggs when we get in? We have some, I could make mushroom omelette? You like that."

"I don't feel particularly hungry."

"No, me neither. But I'll make it anyway." She yawned, reached over and touched his arm again. "Are you okay?"

"Known her all her life, you see."

She leant towards him, "I know."

"The kindest soul…"

"I know." She squeezed his arm, kissed his cheek. "I'm here."

He nodded curtly, and reached past her to put the car in gear. "Let's go home."

* * *

 **Friday, 14** **th** **October**

"He hasn't got anywhere else to go," Elsie said, shuffling the papers on her desk into some sort of pile. "And I know it isn't great…timing wise…we're just getting used to living together, I know."

Charles turned in the swivel chair across from her, crossing his long legs as he faced towards the wall and made a noise akin to a grumble in the back of his throat.

"It can't be helped." She said softly.

"There are no other friends?"

"Not like…" she stopped herself, she was going to say 'me' but there had been a low rumbling of discord from Charles since the key information and she didn't want to hurt him; he, along with everyone else in her life at present, seemed to be a small rain cloud away from a full-blown storm.

"His close friends are back home in Ireland, and I'm pretty sure the Crawleys aren't going to want him disappearing there with Sybbie."

"Why that name? Of all the names he had to choose 'Sybil', so we're reminded of her every day?"

"I think that's rather the point darling." She sank down into her chair, opening the file in front of her and shoving the pile of documents inside. "God I'm overwhelmed, house stuff coming out of my ears – if I'm not dealing with selling my own properties then I'm reading legal documents on the farm or reviewing plans for Dad's new house. And Tom, all of this…" She sighed, looked across at Charles, her fingers looped together and folded beneath her chin. "I haven't asked him yet," she said gently. "It was just a thought. He's lost, he needs help with the baby, care, not to be alone, most importantly. And we have room. It's not going to be forever, just in the early stages whilst he finds his feet. Finds a way through the grief."

"Robert says he's refusing a nanny."

"I did say."

"And he wants her christened Catholic."

"He is the father Charles, it's his choice."

"Would Sybil have wanted that?"

She shrugged, "They were going to marry, I suspect they'd discussed it at least. Besides, we don't have a say in that and I wouldn't want –,"

"It's not just his say though, is it?" He snapped and she closed her eyes, just momentarily.

Since that terrible Sunday he'd been snappy with her, snappy or distant, no in-between. He hadn't touched her; not a cuddle or a hug or a held hand. The dinner conversation had been one-sided as she tried to bring in normalcy with comments on the weather, the political landscape, the stress and legal wrangling of the property business.

"What shall I say then, do you mind if I ask?"

"Would it matter if I minded?"

"You know it would." She breathed deeply, feeling her lungs expand, "Charles, this is only if you're comfortable with it too. We can be there for them, we might be good for them, to help with the baby."

"I know nothing of babies."

"Me neither. But I'll watch a few youtube videos and give nappy changing a go if it means Tom can sleep for longer than twenty minutes. He can't stay in that hotel – he can't afford it for a start and he refuses to set foot in their home. Wants me to sell it."

"Already?"

"I know, I won't of course. He needs more time to think it all through, work it all through." She slid her chair closer to the desk, reaching her hand across to where his lay. "Sweetheart, I wish you'd just…"

"I'm going to go for a walk."

"Now? It's after four, it'll be dark soon."

"I know, I need some air, clear my head. Are you working late again?"

"I guess so, did you want me to cook?" She touched the tips of his fingers where they lay rigid upon the desk.

"No," he shook his head, "I'll do something when I get back." He pushed his chair back and got to his feet. "If you need me to look at anything, you know, legal stuff for the farm or whatever, just say. I'm pretty much at a loose end."

She bit her lip; surely with Christmas not far off he should've been up to his eyes in bookings but he'd hardly mentioned his work, content to let somebody else handle it all. She wondered if he was depressed, and then she wondered if she was even qualified enough to judge… she only knew a little about depression, but then at times she felt she knew only a little of Charles Carson too. Especially when he was this closed off.

"I'll see you later," he said from the door, then added more gently, "call me, when you're done."

"I will. Be safe, walk somewhere safe."

He nodded, "Tell him yes. Or ask him, Tom, whatever it is you need to do."

"Thank you. It won't be for long, I promise."

"Don't make promises like that; it might take him forever to get over this."

* * *

 **Thursday, 20** **th** **October**

Despite her current state of exhaustion, Elsie often found sleep wouldn't come. Her days were so full of late, purposefully so perhaps. If she kept busy there was little time to dwell on things. To worry about Tom and the baby; or whether her father would ever get the farmhouse cleared and be in any fit state to move; whether Becky would cope living elsewhere; and Charles… well, she worried about Charles despite the busy days.

Instead of sleep she'd lie awake listening to the ticking of the room. The hundreds of thoughts from the day past running through her head; the numerous conversations she'd had; things she still had to do. She'd started making lists when it got too much, she'd grab her phone from the bedside table and send herself an email: do this, do that, ring him, post that… And all the while this thrumming sadness underlying it all. A feeling that things should have stopped, life should have, but it went on, everything always did.

In the night, Charles would turn to her, in his restless sleep, and when she did wake in the early hours she'd find his body pressed against hers, his arm around her, his head on her chest.

It comforted her, to know that despite his obvious struggles with his grief, he still wanted her, still needed her; and that brought some relief and she'd sleep again, with his warm body cuddled against hers.

The baby's cries woke them both though. As startling and unexpected as it still was filling their peaceful home. Charles' body jerked up in the bed, wrenched from sleep, wide-eyed. Elsie placed her hand on his back, which startled him again.

"Just the baby," she said softly and he slowly lay back down as his brain registered where the sound was coming from.

She kept her hand on his arm as they lay side-by-side listening to the cries along the hall – the change in tone as she was lifted from her cot and walked about the room.

"She's got some lungs," Charles said into the darkness.

"Mm," Elsie closed her eyes, tilted her head towards him on the pillow and the steady rhythm of his breathing lulled her back to sleep.

* * *

Charles was sitting stock-still in the semi-darkness, staring at the flickering screen of the television, the remote control a heavy weight in his hand yet the sound on mute. He had laid for a long time it seemed, listening to the baby's cries as they ebbed away and turned to the gurgles of feeding and then sleep. And then there was darkness again, and the sound of Elsie's breathing, the ticking of the clock, the heartbeat of the house.

He had turned from her, slunk out of bed and crept downstairs. With a glass of single malt in his hand, he found the television remote and flicked through channels.

When he heard the soft pad of Elsie's feet coming down the stairs he inwardly grimaced; he didn't want to speak, to try and explain how he felt. But when she entered the lounge, stood in front of him in just her flimsy nightgown, he simply wanted to press against her, bury his face against her stomach and just hold her.

"Hi," she whispered, her eyes flicking from his face to the television screen.

"Hi."

"Can't sleep?"

"Something like that." He watched her shift from one bare foot to the other, shivering and rubbing her arms. She breathed deeply and licked her lips; there was a fine strand of hair draped across her cheek, clinging to her bottom lip, and if they were in bed he'd enjoy moving it, stroking his thumb across the plump softness.

"Do you want me to leave you alone?"

"No," he said softly.

"Shall I make us some tea, something?"

For a moment he stares at her, pressing the remote tight against the soft flesh of his palm. Words spin over in his mind and the light of the television flickers over his face, "I feel guilty," he finally admits.

She turns to face him fully now, and her eyes look dark, her face pale.

"Why? About what?"

He tilted his head slightly, pressed back against the cushion on the chair, "For feeling happy," he let out a long breath. "For you, and how I feel about you, amongst all this pain, how dare I feel joy?"

She visibly shrunk at his words, her shoulders slumping, "Charles…"

"It's selfish to even think it, I know."

"No," she is shaking her head, bending in front of him, taking the remote from his hand and placing her hands in his instead. "Of course we feel guilty, we feel guilty that we're here, healthy and yes, happy, when a young girl is gone. A baby never knowing her mother. But we have to go on precisely for that reason, for that tiny baby girl; she needs to know love, happiness, that it still exists in the world. She doesn't know anything of pain or guilt or loss. Only that her father is holding her and keeping her safe, and that she has her family, and wonderful kind people like you in her life."

"And you, Aunty Elsie, feeding her, holding her, singing to her."

"Some things she could do without I guess."

He allowed himself a smile at that and reached across to move the strand of hair, sliding it between his thumb and forefinger.

"It's harder than I thought."

She wasn't sure if he meant dealing with Sybil's death or the realities of cohabitation.

"I know," was all she said. "Do you want me to get you something?"

He shook his head, "You go back to bed, you have to work. You've got all this stuff going on…"

"That doesn't mean I'm too busy for you. You must talk to me darling, you can't just –,"

"I'm fine… I will be. I'm going to take mum out tomorrow, have some lunch and what have you."

"Did you want me to come?"

"No it's alright," he felt guilty again for saying that – the truth was he hadn't even thought of asking her. "Sorry for waking you again," he said instead. "Your nights are interrupted enough as it is."

"I don't mind Sybbie waking me, nor you," she squeezed his leg. "But I will try and get a couple more hours. Will you come back to bed?"

He nodded, "I'll just finish this show…" he gazed blankly at the television screen.

She bit her lip, "Okay, I'll leave you to…" she got unsteadily to her feet. "Goodness my bones ache. This cold weather doesn't help it; I think as I've got older I much prefer the sun. Winter doesn't suit me."

"We met in the winter," he said looking up at her.

"And fell in love," she sang gently.

* * *

 **Tuesday, 1** **st** **November**

"Hello sweetheart," Elsie said, turning around and around in the kitchen with Sybbie in her arms. "Hello my beautiful baby girl. And how have you been today, hm? Do you like that? Do you like dancing with me?"

"She likes the music, have you noticed?" Tom said, pouring two glasses of wine.

"I have, she's got good taste. That's soul music gorgeous, and you like the rhythm don't you?" She laughed as Sybbie gurgled up at her, "You're almost a month old now, yes you are, and you're getting bigger and stronger and more and more beautiful every day." She kissed her forehead repeatedly. "I've missed you today."

"You've been out a long time."

"I know; my feet are killing me. Where's Charles?"

Tom shrugged, "Not sure, he wasn't home when we got back from our walk." He filled the large pan with water from the kettle, "Should I put on enough spaghetti for the two of us or three?"

"I'm not sure; try to call him maybe? I'll go put Sybbie to bed," she smiled down at the yawning infant. "You're a tired little girl, aren't you."

"I can do it."

"I like to," Elsie smiled, holding the baby closer to her chest, "You don't mind?"

"Course not. I'll try Charles."

* * *

"Thank you for cooking, Tom," Elsie said, stretching her legs out in front of her and glancing up to the clock on the wall.

"Least I can do; I'm living here rent free." He followed her gaze, "You worried about him?"

"Seems odd that he wouldn't call. Not when he's out so late."

"Perhaps his battery died."

"Perhaps." She shifted her feet, reaching down to rub her ankles, "I might take a bath, I ache head to toe."

"This damp weather doesn't help," he refilled their glasses and she noted how quickly he drank his; he'd drunk a lot since Sybil's death it seemed. In body he was there, but there was a thin façade between who he presented to the world and how she knew he really felt. How he struggled.

"He doesn't much like me here, does he?" He stated.

Elsie looked up sharply, "I wouldn't say that…"

"Come on."

"It's just odd for him I suppose, sharing a house with me let alone another adult and a baby."

"I can go; I don't want to upset the equilibrium you've formed with him."

"Equilibrium?"

"Yeah, well, maybe that's the wrong word. Just… well, he isn't what I imagined, whenever I thought of you settling… he just seems a bit stuck in his ways…"

"No," she shook her head, looked away, her fingers circling the rim of her glass. "He isn't, I can understand why you think that of late and the two of you have very different ideas… different approaches to things. But he's, he can be, very warm. Very caring." She took another sip of her wine, "I'm not going to pretend he's finding this easy."

"What does he find so hard?"

She shrugged, "I wish I knew," she said without thinking, then caught the look in his eye and regretted her words. "I'll do the dishes," she said, getting to her feet. "Then go for a bath."

He watched as she got to her feet and gathered their dishes together, carrying them to the sink and filling it with hot water. "Don't you think you should know?" He asked, "I mean, if you're together?"

She said nothing; Tom's pain was still raw, the funeral was weeks ago but since then his grief had changed – he'd often been blunt, rude, challenging.

Elsie only knew he was behind her when she felt his arm brush hers to place a fork in the sink, "You missed this one," he said, and she looked up to see his reflection in the kitchen window.

She watched his hand move absently, as one might watch events in an old movie; how it rested on her shoulder and then slid down to her elbow. "So unfair how things play out, isn't it? Two selfish people like ourselves finally finding something that little bit more fulfilling only to find it gone in an instant."

She frowned; a dark, itchy feeling in her chest, something warm and cloying rising in her stomach.

Tom's head dropped forward, his forehead on her shoulder and she thought he was crying again, seeking her comfort as he had so often over the past weeks. But then his neck tilted and she felt his mouth touch her skin and she jerked around, his body crushing into hers.

She pressed her hands forcefully against his chest, feeling his breath hot on her neck, "No Tom, not that."

"Why not?" His hands reached for her hips, trying to draw her in to him.

"Because it's not _me_ you want. You love Sybil, not me, and this would just be to try and forget for a moment, a distraction, something that feels like something you remember – but it's not it, it will never quite be enough." She allowed herself to touch him now, as a friend might, pressing her hands against his upper arms and squeezing reassuringly. "I love you, you're a dear, dear friend, and I want to help, you know that. But not in that way."

He stared at her for a second, and then again fell against her, sobbing onto her shoulder – the slight Elsie Hughes holding him up; the root in his shifting sands.

"I just want one more day, Els, just one more day with her. That's not asking too much, is it? I just need to know things," he looked up tearfully at the older woman holding him as a mother might when comforting a heartbroken child. "I need to know what to do, how she wants Sybbie bringing up, what she hoped for her, where to live. Just one day."

She pulled him to her again – partly because she thinks that's what he needs, human comfort, but also because there are no words she can find to soothe, so she makes do with her physical presence, rocking him until his tears slow and subside and his breathing evens out.

Then he looks at her again, squeezing her hands so tightly she thinks they'll turn to dust.

"I'm sorry, I apologise for being out of line." He snuffled.

"You know it's okay, you're finding your way, you're grieving Tom, and it's not going to be easy when it was such a great love. But I'm here, and I'll be here every step of the way."

He seems to pause for a moment, considering before he speaks, "And what about you? What about your love?"

A memory of Charles' mouth on hers makes her jolt; somehow she manages to turn it into a shrug.

For a second she thinks he'll push the issue, challenge her on what's going on in her relationship with Charles – but then his eyes fill with tears again and he simply holds her tight; the pair of them still in the centre of her kitchen.

She sees the cat before she realises he is even there; this damp moggy parading across her kitchen floor as if it lives there, and then she sees the tips of Charles' shoes by the kitchen door and looks up his legs, past his torso to his face.

There's a flicker of something that momentarily crosses his face and, not for the first time that evening, her heart aches.

"Hi darling," she says, loosening her grip on Tom's body.

"Hi, er, I… Found the cat outside; it's chucking it down. Sorry didn't mean to…interrupt or anything…"

"Don't be silly, you live here."

Tom has moved away and is filling the kettle and she smiles at Charles, crossing to him and kissing his cheek, her hands on the lapels of his jacket. "Where've you been? We tried calling?"

"Turned my phone off, I was out with Robert."

"Oh, and how is he?"

He shrugged, "You know."

"Did you eat?"

"Not too hungry."

"Let me make something."

"There's some meatballs left," Tom offers, "shall I put more pasta on?"

"I'm not really hungry… I might go shower, get changed. Is Sybbie okay?"

"Yes, fine, sleeping." Elsie wonders when all of this will stop feeling so damned awkward. "You go up, I'll bring you a drink."

When she turned back to Tom her mouth was screwed up, her brow furrowed, and Tom had a look on his face that spoke of discomfort. "And he doesn't mind me being here…"

* * *

Charles was still in the bedroom when she went up, sitting on the edge of the bed in just his trousers.

"We were drinking red," she stated, closing the bedroom door behind her, "so I brought you a glass of that."

"Thanks."

She put it down on the bedside table, standing less than a metre away from him, her hands clasped together in front of her. "What's wrong? What happened today?"

"Nothing, nothing out of the ordinary. They're just… just lost I guess. And I find it hard to come here, to come home and _he's_ here, holding you and getting on with life. Cooking bloody spaghetti."

"Do you think he's not struggling?"

He looked at her for the first time since she'd entered the room.

"Because he is. He was sobbing on my shoulder, Charles, he's broken…"

He got to his feet, cutting her off, "It's his fault. And don't tell me I'm being irrational or stupid, because I know I am, I know that. But I can't forgive him. If he hadn't come into her life, taken her away, got her pregnant –,"

"You can't say that. How were they to ever know this would happen? And if… you can't not want Sybbie alive in the world, she's the most precious thing."

"Yeah well, like I said, I know I'm being irrational. I don't expect you to understand."

She sighed, her shoulders sagging in exhaustion. She watched as he reached past her, scrabbling about in the drawers for clothes.

"And what about us, Charles? Where are we?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. You can't keep shutting me out, it isn't fair."

"You're rather preoccupied taking care of him."

She moaned, her head falling back, "Oh god, please don't do that, please. I can't… this isn't some competition. I'm not picking sides or… I don't know what I can say to that. What you expect me to say."

"Say nothing." He dropped a few t-shirts onto the bed.

"What are you looking for?"

"I think… I thought I might go stay at the flat, for a couple of nights, just to get away."

That floored her, her mind was spinning and she pressed her hand against the wall to support herself, "What?"

"I just need some space, just a couple of nights."

"You can't just run away when things hit a bad patch, when they get messy or difficult."

"I can't stay here with him at the moment," he shrugged, as if it was the most logical thing in the world to simply remove himself from the problem rather than try to fix it.

"This is a grieving man, my friend, and you're making me choose…"

"I'm not making _you_ do anything. This is my choice."

"You're talking like we're separate."

He stopped what he was doing and paused to look at her; she did her best to hide the tremble in her body.

"It'll only be for a couple of days."

She nodded, hot tears pricking her eyes, "Yeah, course it will," she said bitterly.

"What's that mean?"

"You're a fucking idiot," her voice shuddered.

"Elsie…"

"A fucking idiot!" She snapped this time, "I would've given you everything. I have." She breathed deeply, "But you're just like every other selfish man."

She walked away, locking herself in the bathroom and waiting until she was in the shower before she cried – that way, he couldn't hear.

* * *

 **Thursday, 3** **rd** **November**

"You think it was selfish of me?" Charles asked, pushing open the gate and waiting as Isobel walked ahead of him. "You can be honest; I don't need you to tiptoe around me."

"And I wouldn't. I think it's bloody stupid of you, I can tell you that."

He laced his hands together behind his back; it was a frosty morning, shards of grass stood sharp and iced ahead of them; the pebbled footpath crunched beneath their feet. Isobel carried flowers and he thought how beautiful the yellow looked against the crispness of the day.

"Have you seen her?" He asked gently.

"I have."

"And? Is she okay?"

Isobel sighed, "Like I said, you're a bloody idiot. She thinks you don't care."

"Of course I do."

"She thinks you've left her."

"I never said that…"

"Perhaps not. But really, you did, you walked out and she needed you."

He frowned, his face dropped forward and he stared at the ground beneath his feet.

"Do you know how hard she's been working? And I'm not just talking _work_ work, I mean her father, trying to sort all that. And Tom – trying to hold him together. And being there for the baby and then… and you, trying to hold you together too. She's exhausted; it isn't easy being everyone's backbone, the hub that keeps everyone going. I suppose she thought in you she'd found a partner to help her carry some of those burdens; she's done it alone for so long and do you even know, even realise how hard it was for her to let you in and share –,"

"Alright, alright. I get it. I'm a lousy human being."

"But you're not, that's the thing." Isobel pushed open the second gate and together they crossed the grass in silence. "You're rather a nice man. A good man, and usually smarter than this, if a little stubborn."

They stopped by a newly turned plot of earth and Charles watched as Isobel bent to lay the flowers across Sybil's grave.

"I didn't expect it would hurt so much," Charles finally said. "I wasn't prepared for it, and I didn't know how to deal with it. I feel a stab of guilt every time I hold Sybbie, or whenever I see Elsie smiling at the baby and there's this sprig of joy and I just… I didn't realise it would feel like this. It didn't with my father; it was different somehow."

Isobel pushed herself up to her feet again, turning to face him. "Perhaps because he was older. Nobody knows how grief is going to affect you Charles, nobody. And I get the guilt thing, I really do. Do you realise it has taken me years not to think of my husband every second of the day and wonder how he views my actions? To lay awake and worry that he's up there somewhere watching my relationship with Richard and hating me for moving on."

"He wouldn't."

"No. And neither would Sybil hate you for loving her baby, for taking care of the man she loved… for being happy with Elsie. You can't simply switch the rest of life off and live in some bubble. And you can't blame Tom for what happened – what a ridiculous idea, honestly."

"She told you about that, did she?" He said sheepishly.

"Course she did. She's trying to make sense of everything as much as you are."

He dug his hands into his coat pockets, "Feel like I can't go back; I've burnt my bridges." He shook his head, "She called me a fucking idiot."

"She was kind of right, wasn't she?"

"Hate myself for this; I've ruined it all."

"No you haven't." She hooked her arm through his, and set off walking through the graveyard; it was early and everything was still and quiet. "You do realise she's ridiculously in love with you?"

He gave a curt nod, turned his face away embarrassed.

"And she knows you're hurting; she just doesn't want to be shut out, or made to feel bad for trying to help a friend –,"

"I don't want that," he said quickly. "Course I don't. She's the most generous hearted, kind spirited…"

"Then fix this."

"I want to, of course I do, I just don't know how or what to say. Can't find the words to tell her I want to…" he blushed, "…to spend my life with her."

"Then you best find the words and quickly." She squeezed his arm, "Everyone knows you're meant for each other, you think we couldn't see it early on? And at her birthday?" She laughed, "I've never seen her like that, ever."

He shook his head at himself, "I've never been like this, never happier than when with her."

"Then stopping hating Tom, let yourself grieve – however messy it is, and talk to her."

* * *

"I couldn't even make it last a month," Elsie said, stirring sugar into her tea.

"Nothing's over." Beryl stated, picking up a biscuit from the plate between them.

"Isn't it?"

"Didn't he say he just needed a couple of nights break? That could be from the crying baby, from Tom's grief, not necessarily you."

Elsie frowned, rolling her eyes, "No, of course not!"

"He loves you, bloody hell we all saw that – your birthday."

"I felt so happy then. Funny how quickly things can change."

"Bugger that. This was a horrendous thing that happened and clearly he doesn't know how to deal with it so he's closed it off in his mind, as men do."

"He said he feels guilty for being happy with me. Maybe I made a mistake asking Tom to stay, I just didn't want him suffering alone."

"You're too kind."

"Or stupid. But he couldn't live in a hotel with a baby."

"Why didn't he just go to the flat, to Charles' place? I mean if he can't face his own home."

"For fuck's sake… that never even occurred to me." She sipped her tea, "I didn't mean to make Charles feel shut out; do you think I did that? Do you think I made him feel disposable or second-best?"

"Stop letting your mind wander; you've done nothing wrong."

"Clearly I have." She ran a hand through her hair, sagging back in her chair, "I'm so rubbish at all this stuff, I always bugger it up, push people away."

"No," Beryl's voice was firm. "I've known you a lifetime and we're not going down that route. Nothing is ruined. You did nothing wrong. And you and Charles will be fine because I've already got my eye on a hat for the wedding."

Elsie smirked, "Don't be silly, we're not even engaged."

"You and I both know where this is heading." She tapped her ring finger. "A great big diamond."

"Don't joke. If we can't even make living together work how could we possibly manage marriage?"

"You will. Everyone has trials and tribulations; it's how we get through those troubles that matter."

"It's like having afternoon tea with Oprah."

"Except we both know I'm better looking," Beryl refilled their teacups. "Now, let's get down to the nitty gritty of it all…"

"Because we haven't already?"

"When did you last see him?"

"Two days ago," she sighed, "you know that."

"And when did you last have sex?"

"Beryl! For goodness sake!"

"It's important, a healthy sex life is important…"

"Beryl, Tom's upstairs, lower your voice."

Grinning Beryl leant forward, whispering, "I'm just saying, you like sex, we both know that."

"Oh god I'm in hell right now." She covered her flushed cheeks with her hands.

"Just, you know… just need to…"

"Please do not finish that sentence."

"Alright," she shrugged, "But you love him, don't you?"

This time she was serious; and Elsie gave a single nod, a slow resignation of that fact. "Yes," she said meekly. "Very much."

"Then for goodness sake stop wasting time and sort this out, whatever the issue is, before it's too late and you don't have another day. Look at Tom and Sybil. I didn't really know the girl but I know what it's done to him, how quickly things can change. Izzy – we went through that with her, _we know_." She said solemnly.

Elsie nodded, "Yes. We do."

"So, you have this chance with him for something good, something special. I never thought you'd get there so don't let me down. Put on a nice dress and do your hair and…"

"I'm not going over there to seduce him. He should be the one apologising to me."

"He should, you should; what does it matter?"

"It does matter. I'm being made to feel like I did something wrong and –,"

"Nobody is saying that."

"I feel so embarrassed. Everyone will know he left, and so soon… everyone will know I fucked it up."

"Nobody knows a thing."

Elsie crossed her arms in front of her chest, "Don't you dare talk to him about this, I don't want him crawling back because you told him to."

Beryl shrugged, " _I_ haven't said a word."

* * *

She finds herself sitting in her car outside Charles' flat less than an hour later. Dressed in jeans and a jumper; a jumper with something resembling baby spit on the shoulder of it, her hair tangled in a bobble, no makeup, her skin dry and tired from sleepless nights.

Still, she finds her phone, flicks to his name and calls. It takes him longer than usual to answer and she wonders if he's out.

"Hello," he says softly, closing his eyes, digging his free hand into his pocket because he feels awkward, overwhelmed with emotion. Isobel's words from that morning still fresh in his mind.

"Hi," she feels her face flush at the sound of his voice. "Where are you?"

"I'm, erm, I'm at… in the flat, why?"

"I'm sitting outside."

"Oh… …Are you going to, er, come in?"

"If you want me to."

"I'll open the door."

* * *

"Don't look too closely," she said as she came into the flat, shutting the door behind her and letting her handbag slip down her arm and to the floor. "I'm not looking my best."

"I doubt that, you always look your best," he leant in to kiss her cheek, just lightly, somehow restraining from drawing her into a hug. "Do you want something to drink? Tea or something stronger? I could make you a G&T."

She shook her head; if she were honest with him, it annoyed her that he seemed so resettled back there.

"It seems odd without all of your furniture," she said, following him into the kitchen. "The table's gone."

"I took it to a charity shop after I'd moved in with you; I certainly had no use for the thing and it seemed a fair thing to do." He shuffled about by the sink watching her gaze about the room, "You sure you don't want any tea? Because I feel an utter prat standing about here."

"Do you want me to leave?"

"Course not, I just don't want things to be awkward between us."

She tilted her head to the side watching him, "Why?"

"You know why…"

She bit down on her lip, screwed her face up as she mulled on it; just when she thought she'd figured men out something happened to baffle her all over again. And _this_ man…

"Damn you," she muttered and his eyes widened, at first at her words and then at her swift movement as she crossed the kitchen and was in his arms, her mouth against his hot and demanding. Her hands on his face holding him still as she kissed him.

His breath caught in his throat and he gasped, plunging his tongue into her mouth, lifting her body up and tight to his.

"Oh god," he groaned, in between kisses, "I've missed you."

She ignored his words; part of her was too angry with him, too hurt by him – but then a much bigger part of her soul simply wanted to be in his arms, to be one with him, complete again.

She pushed up his jumper, pressed her cold hands to his bare chest and he shivered at her touch but let her undress him. She unbuckled the belt on his jeans quickly and easily, and slid her hand inside, rewarded with his deep pleasure-filled moan.

"Elsie…"

"Shut up," she insisted, pulling him with her and towards his bedroom.

* * *

"Didn't think we'd ever make love here again," Elsie said into her pillow, lying on her side and facing the window. "In this bed."

Behind her, Charles shifted his hand against her hip, his thumb rubbing familiar patterns upon the silk of her skin. He placed a kiss to her shoulder, his hand moving over her belly, his palm pressing lightly.

"Was that goodbye sex?" She said, her throat felt tight, her lips dry.

"Was it what?"

She lifted her chin a little so she could speak more clearly, "Goodbye sex." She swallowed, "I've experienced it before, so you can speak plainly."

"You do talk some rubbish at times," he said, kissing her shoulder again.

Elsie turned in his arms, pressing her body tight against his, "Why is it rubbish? Men have done it to me before, you think everything's okay because you're back in their bed and then," she trailed her fingers over his chest. "…they call the next day and tell you it's over."

"That's not going to happen." He brushed her hair back from her face, felt her knee wiggle between his thighs. "Do you really think me that kind of man?"

She pouted, "I didn't think you the kind of man to leave me neither."

"I haven't left you…"

"You left. Therefore you left me."

"I would never leave you, never," he held her tighter. "And I am sorry, and utterly ashamed of my behaviour."

"Will you talk to me now?"

He nodded, "I can only try, I'm not too good at…" He closed his eyes, pressed his mouth to her forehead, "Don't doubt that I love you, that I want to spend every day, every week, every month, every year with you."

His voice wasn't much more than a whisper, he cradled her body, revelled in the feel of her body back with his, her head in its usual spot upon his chest.

"I don't know what to do about the grief. And I know I'm being irrational with the Tom business, it's stupid to blame him, to carry anger around; I hate myself for that too. I don't want to blame him because my rational mind knows that it's a ridiculous idea… I've spent so much time with Robert, listening to his tears, I suppose I needed an outlet. And, don't be angry with me for this –,"

"I won't," she said softly.

"But I found myself feeling jealous, seeing the two of you so close, how comfortable you are together. And yes, I know you're comforting him because he's broken, but the human heart is a difficult and contradictory thing and mine's only just learning how to work."

She reached up and pressed her fingers to his lips, "Shh," she said, lifting her face to his, tears in her eyes, "you don't have to say anything more, just come home with me, yes? You will come home?"

He nodded, kissing her, tasting the salt of her tears upon her lips.

"I can't be without you," she breathed gently, "and that's hard for me to admit. But somehow, I've found that love…well, it makes you think that maybe I can accept myself for who I am… because you do, you seem to."

Charles smiled, kissed her forehead repeatedly as he brushed his hands down her back and recited a passage he knew so very well. " _Be with me always—take any form—drive me mad! only_ _do_ _not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable! I_ _cannot_ _live without my life! I_ _cannot_ _live without my soul!"_

* * *

 _Had to get a bit of Wuthering Heights in ;-)_


	29. Chapter 29

_A dear friend of mine, who lovingly checks every chapter of this story for me before publishing, reminded me that quite soon this will be a year old, which is hard to believe when it was meant as a short playful thing! Sorry we haven't quite reached Christmas yet, but hopefully I'll update again before I return to work. If I don't get to do it before New Year though I'll say now thank you to everyone who has stuck with this over the year and supports the story and my version of Chelsie. x R_

* * *

 **Chapter 29**

 **Thursday, December 1** **st**

"Now then," Charles said, lifting Sybbie up from the changing mat. "What's all this fuss about? We need to change your nappy and there's no getting round that," he supported her head, walked her about the kitchen until she started to calm. "I understand it isn't a really nice thing; it's messy and I'm clumsy, not like Aunty Elsie, that's for sure."

"You're babbling to her," Elsie said as she came into the kitchen. She leant over and kissed Sybbie's cheek, "Good afternoon gorgeous," then stood on her tiptoes to kiss Charles, "Good afternoon to you too."

"Hi sweetheart. And I'm not babbling, we have some intellectual discussions, Sybbie and I."

"About nappies. I heard. What time did Tom drop her off?"

"Couple of hours ago," he walked Sybbie back to the table, sat himself down and watched as Elsie filled the kettle. "Said he was going to the bank to sort through some things and then to pick up his tickets."

"A-ha, you want some coffee?" She asked, reaching up into the cupboard for the coffee beans.

"Ooh, that's a short skirt," Charles noted, eyes wide as he appreciated her legs.

"It's new, M&S winter range. Pretty nice, hey?"

" _Nice_ …" he looked her up and down, "…short."

"Do my legs look fat?"

"Hell no. People will be looking."

"By people you mean _men_ ," she sauntered towards him, twisting her hips deliberately as she passed him and slipped into a seat at the table. "Jealous? Worried?"

"Not in the slightest…"

She giggled at his furrowed brow as she crossed her legs and deliberately pushed her skirt up.

He was shaking his head at her, "You're incorrigible," he placed his hand on her knee, easily balancing the baby on the other arm.

"Behave Mr Carson, I hardly know you." She leant forward and kissed him. "I gotta go soon, my train is at 6:20."

"Mm, I'll drive you."

"You're looking after her, I'll get a taxi, it'll be fine."

"I'll miss you." He jiggled the baby in his arms, "Sybbie and I will miss you."

"I will be home in one week, maybe less, and then we'll decorate for Christmas and what have you."

"You're sure you don't need me to come up with you? I could be of some help."

"I know, but no, it should be okay. I hope." She got up again, pouring water into the coffee pot. "I will call though, if your assistance is required," she smiled at him. "I'll call everyday anyhow."

"I should hope so." He turned his attention back to the tiny girl who was now sleeping in his arms. "She'll be gone too."

"Not for long, and it'll be good for Tom, a month in Ireland with his family."

"You think he'll come back?" He said pointedly.

"Yes, I do. Don't be frosty."

"I'm not, I've been much better haven't I? Better behaved."

"You've been wonderful, letting him have the flat and… taking care of Sybbie sometimes."

"I like having her, you were right, it lessens the pain somewhat. A little." He kissed the baby's head, got to his feet and gently placed her in her pram.

Elsie turned, leaning back against the counter and crossing her legs; Charles perched on the edge of the table watching her.

"I am being genuine…"

"About? Tom?"

"No. Missing you…" he smiled, then realised what he'd said, "Oh and of course Tom too."

She laughed, glancing at the clock, "Well, we've got time for a quick bedroom visit if you want to squeeze me in."

He frowned, "Elsie Hughes, really, with a baby in the house."

"Yes, you're right," she giggled, "And when have we ever been quick about it?"

They both laughed and she turned, pouring the coffee. Charles moved behind her, one hand resting on her hip, the other moving her hair back from her neck and kissing the base of it before moving up towards her hairline.

"That's seductive," she said softly.

"I know," he squeezed her hip, "just wanted a moment with you," he closed his eyes, whispered by her ear. "To smell you, touch you, taste you…"

She leaned back against him, reaching a hand down to cover his where it still grasped her hip.

"Almost a year Charles," she said, gazing at their reflection in the kitchen window. "Can you believe it?"

He stopped kissing her, rested his chin on her shoulder, "If you'd asked me on January 2nd, or even the 3rd, no. But by February, yes. I knew for damn sure I wasn't letting you go."

Her mouth quirked into a smile, "You've been so good for me."

"That works both ways, believe me."

* * *

 **Sunday 4** **th** **December**

"Anyhow, so I have finally located and transported all of my Christmas decorations; they're currently in the kitchen piled up on the table, which you'd hate."

"I don't mind so much," Elsie said, settling down in bed and pulling the sheets high up her neck, balancing the phone in one hand. "It's cold here."

"Not too bad here, though I did light the fire for mum."

"Where are you?"

"In the lounge, writing a list of things I need."

"Such as?"

"Well, there are several lists. List 1 is cards – who I want to send them to, especially those who live abroad. List 2 – food. List 3 – potential gifts…"

"Is this all Christmas stuff?" Elsie asked.

"Of course. It's closer than you think Elsie darling."

"I know, luckily I'm organised too, I've been storing presents for the past month or so."

"Have you? Where?"

"That's a secret."

"I'm going to search the house for them now you're away."

"Don't you dare."

He chuckled, sitting back on the sofa and stretching his legs out, "Where you hide them?"

"My secret place, the same place I keep all my sex toys."

"Ha ha Elsie."

"You think I'm lying…?"

"Stop it. You're making me feel very inadequate."

She laughed naughtily, suddenly wishing he was there in the bed with her. "I asked Dad by the way. He said yes, though _provisionally_."

"Provisionally?"

"I suppose he doesn't know how he'll feel after the move."

"Well, we'll take it as a yes and I'll plan for that too."

"And your mother?"

"I haven't asked her but that's the plan, to have her too, if you don't mind."

"You know I don't mind. No idea where they'll all sleep though."

"It'll be fine, I've thought it through…"

Elsie smirked, turning onto her side and switching off the lamp, the light from her phone illuminating her face. "Have you?"

"Mum in the room by ours, it has its own loo which she'll need. Then Becky in the one by the bathroom and I figured we could put your father in my room."

"There's no bed in there."

"Well, no, not at present, but all we need do is take out my side tables, move my lounging chair next to the desk by the window and we can easily squash in a single bed – we can use the one from my flat, easy enough to take down and reassemble."

"You sure that's not going to be too much of an issue?"

"Course not, they'll be here a week after all."

"A week?" She couldn't hide the shriek from her voice.

"Maybe ten days. If they come over Christmas Eve or the day before, the Friday I think, then go after New Year."

"Wait. What? I thought we were going to the party New Year, anniversary of our meeting."

"We can do, doesn't mean they can't stay. Your Dad might want to come."

"I can assure you he won't. He'll see it as debauchery."

Charles chuckled, "You're sure I don't remind you of him."

She rolled her eyes, "Charles, you think we won't kill each other?"

"Think of it this way – if they only come once, to stay here for the festivities only once in our lifetime then we can manage ten days, can't we?"

She smiled, "You're such a sneaky thing."

"My mother probably won't stay that long," he admitted, "she'll be ready to go home come Boxing Day, she's the same every year. Least she won't have to deal with the flat this year, she never liked it."

"Was she okay with the stairs tonight?"

"They're fairly accessible; I helped anyhow."

Elsie gasped, "I go to a party on Christmas Eve," she suddenly said, "And then Midnight mass."

"Well we can still do that. If you don't mind me tagging along."

"Course I don't but what about Dad, and Becky?"

"Becky might come, mightn't she?"

Elsie bit down on her lip, "I don't know. I guess she'd like to…"

"What?"

"Nothing. Just," she closed her eyes, "nobody who knows me knows her, you see what I mean?"

"Yes." He replied softly, "I see. But you're not embarrassed?"

"Course not. No. I just don't want lots of questions, staring; I don't want her feeling uncomfortable."

"As if we'd let that happen. I think she'd love spending time in your world, with her sister, staying up late, going to church. It will be special, which is what it should be."

Elsie closed her eyes, sank even deeper into the soft warmth of her pillow.

"So, don't worry about things, just enjoy it. I made Cottage Pie for dinner, for mum and I, and you missed it. Oh and I heard from Tom, he rang, which was odd but nice. Said the journey was fine, Sybbie slept and he's home now… You've gone quiet."

"I was just… just thinking."

Charles lifted his legs up onto the sofa, settling back against the cushions, "About?"

She sighed, "It makes me sound selfish."

"Tell me."

"Everything has to change. All the things I do, or I guess used to do now, it all changes. My routine. I've done the same thing for years at Christmas, got all my little places I go, when I visit friends, which parties I attend. Now it all changes."

Charles tapped his fingers against the side of the phone, "It doesn't have to. You can still do the same things, we don't have to do the whole family thing."

She pouted, closing her eyes, "But I want to do that."

He smiled, "So, things change. It's not a bad thing."

"No. Not at all."

"And we do things together now. You know we'll share the load –,"

"You say that now. Men say things like that."

"Here we go, _men_ , all the same," he rolled his eyes. "Have I not proved things yet?"

"A thousand times over."

"There we go." He laughed. "And we both know I'm the better cook." He teased.

"Mm…"

"Elsie… are you crying?"

"No."

He sat up, "Yes you are. You know I was only joking."

"Course I do," she snuffled, reaching across the bedside table for a tissue. "It's just a little… it's nothing."

"Sweetheart," he said gently, his voice comforting, "talk to me, what's happened?"

"Nothing, oh God." She sat up, snatching more tissues from the box. "It's so silly. I'm not even sad."

"You don't have to be sad to cry. Here I am I'm prattling on."

"I like that, I like listening to you. It's just hard here, it's taking longer than I expected; I'll be here another week I think. And it's stressful – a hundred things at once to deal with and Becky excited and Dad grumbling and then my own work going on in the background and I can't pay attention to it. And you. I miss you."

"Why didn't you just say that? I'll be there tomorrow."

"Charles, I don't expect –,"

"I'll get an early train. No arguing. Besides it's my turn."

"What do you mean?" She flopped back on the pillows again, comforted somewhat by the thought of his presence.

Charles pushed himself up from the sofa, stretching his back as he stood, "You didn't have to come to me that night, over the Tom stuff, but you did. It should have been me crawling back, not you meeting me halfway."

"Well," she smiled, closing her eyes as she remembered their passionate kisses in his kitchen. "I can tell you now old Elsie wouldn't have behaved in such a way. Softening me up."

"I thought that was what you'd done to me." He poked at the fire, watching the embers dying down. "I'm going to go up to bed, pack a bag now then get some sleep. Mother's always up at 7:00 anyhow. She was yesterday, wandering around."

Elsie smiled, "I'm glad she's there with you, that you felt comfortable enough for that."

"You do keep telling me this is my home, and it is, _our_ home." He got to his feet, "So, I'll be there tomorrow to help."

"Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me; I should've joined you in the first place." He turned off the lounge light, turning to look at the room in the dim orange light of the fire. "Love you."

"I love you too. See you tomorrow."

"Goodnight darling."

* * *

 **Tuesday 5th December**

"I caught a cold," Charles said, sneezing into a tissue and shivering.

"You want a tonic?" Douglas asked, following him along the empty corridor and into the kitchen.

"Medicine?"

Douglas laughed, "You might call it that; my Grandfather used to mix it for me. Hot Toddy type, you know."

"Oh yes," Charles sneezed again and wearily sank into a chair at the kitchen table. When he'd first visited, the kitchen, in fact the entire farmhouse, was a well of clutter. Now all was bare. Pictures were gone from the walls – some wrapped and transported to the new property, others burning on the seemingly ever growing bonfire taking up more and more space in the yard. Trinkets that filled surfaces cleared leaving behind trails of dust along scuffed surfaces, chipped paint. Only food remained; something Elsie insisted would wait until last to be cleared.

"She's a whirlwind," Douglas said, finding a mug and rinsing it clean. "Within days this room was cleared, she says we can afford to leave the table and chairs."

"Not an heirloom, is it?"

"No, and she's already ordered a new one for the bungalow. She gets things done."

"She does," Charles agreed, watching as Douglas mixed together the drink. "Though I think she forgets sometimes, that she doesn't have to do everything alone."

"Habit," Douglas said, sliding the mug across the table to Charles. "Drink it down in one, it'll fix you up."

Charles sniffed the contents, "I'll be able to drive after drinking this?"

Douglas smiled, "Yeah, you will. We've got another van load to go; she'll skin us if we don't get there before dark."

Charles nodded and lifted the mug to his mouth, knocking back the concoction. "Woah!" He coughed, eyes stinging as he swallowed.

"Good stuff, it'll see you right. Now, shall we get that cabinet?"

Despite the many years Douglas had on Charles, he had to be impressed with the grit of the older man showed. He supposed it came from years of physical labour working the farm; he was still strong and determined and together they carried out the old dresser from the dining room and into the rented van.

Charles bore the weight with hardly a word or moan; he'd always been one to turn his concerns into silence, so carrying something so heavy meant he suffered internally but focussed his mind on completing the task.

The backs of his thighs complained as they hoisted it up into the back of the vehicle and his calves ached as he pushed himself up after it, moving it into a secure space. Once still, he leaned against it, breathing deeply.

"You going to ask her then?" Douglas asked, looking up at Charles' tall frame bent forward; the top of his hair skimming the roof of the van.

"Sorry?" Charles said breathlessly.

"Bout time you asked her, isn't it? That's what you want."

Charles climbed down from the van, coughing following the exertion of their task. "Marriage, you mean?"

"She mentioned it, last time you were up here. Said you'd talked about it."

They crossed the yard, back towards the farmhouse.

"I wouldn't say 'talked about it', the word was mentioned, she shirked, to be honest."

Douglas snorted, "Course she did, she's Elsie Hughes. Independence branded on her arse no doubt."

Charles laughed at that; he could assure him it wasn't but the joke would be somewhat tainted.

"What else did she say we needed to bring tonight?" Douglas asked as he surveyed the empty rooms. "Can't see much."

"She wanted a, erm, what's it called… the extension."

"That's it."

Charles remained in the hall, "You think she'd say 'yes' then?" He asked as Douglas returned down the stairs.

Douglas shrugged, "Who knows honestly; our Elsie has never been one to be pushed though, lead her somewhere, don't push."

Charles followed him back out to the van, locking up the house behind them.

"I wouldn't half mind knowing she was secure though," Douglas added, "and happy. You know, before I kick the bucket." He climbed into the van, slamming the door closed.

For a second Charles stood stock still in the middle of the courtyard – death, any mention of death, seemed a bit too keen still. He figured it probably would for a long time to come too. There was no changing what had gone, nor predicting what was still to come, but he couldn't stop. He couldn't just let life stop.

The van door opened, "Are you coming then?" Douglas barked at him and he was chuckling to himself at the similarity between his and Elsie's snappy tone. Life went on.

* * *

Elsie gripped the steering wheel just a little tighter, forcing her heavy eyes open as she yawned. Her body was tired but her mind was exhausted; she felt like she hadn't slept easily since Sybil's death – her mind a constant whirl of to-do lists, questions, concerns.

"I'm starving," Charles said, breaking her reflections. He pointed to the clock on the dashboard. "We ate over seven hours ago. Look at me," she twisted her head to glance at him and he glanced down at his own body. "I'm a well-built, broad guy, I need food."

Elsie laughed, her weariness disappearing as she took in his expression.

"You are indeed, quite broad." She smirked, "Okay, and what would you like to eat?"

He mulled on it for a second, lips pursed, "Cheese."

"Sorry?" She chuckled, slowing the car as they reached the roundabout.

"Cheese, sometimes you just need cheese. And wine."

"Fair point," she shrugged. "Shall I find a supermarket? There's a new Sainsbury's around here I think."

"Yes, I'll nip in and get supplies."

"Would you mind?" She asked, "If we went to the farm tonight?"

"You mean instead of sleeping at the hotel?"

"Yes, I know it's folly but it's the last night it's technically owned by the Hughes' and I'd rather it wasn't standing empty. Is it asking too much – an old, damp place?"

"Is there a kettle? A pot to make tea?"

She smiled, "Yes, the old one is there. Can you believe he was actually going to take it with him? That thing is paint and mud splattered and God knows how many years old. I got him a new one for the new house."

"Of course you did. I bet it matches the décor too."

"You know me well," she squinted at a sign in the dark, "does that say _superstore_?"

Charles peered out of the window, "Yes, take the fourth exit."

She did just that. "You think they'll be okay? Sleeping there tonight just the two of them?"

"They've got to do it some time."

"I know. I just… well, I…"

"You don't want them to be unhappy, I know, because then you'd feel guilty, I know that too. But they'll be fine, they're grown-ups, you can't control everything, or everybody."

"Do I try to do that?"

"You try to make everyone happy, to be everyone's mother… in a way." She looked sharply at him, "Not in a bad way sweetheart, a good thing but just, exhausting sometimes, watching you try to juggle it all."

"I know," she sighed, "I am exhausted. We'll light the fire when we get back to the farm; I'd like to sit in there and eat, just one last time."

He nodded, reaching over to brush his hand over her leg, "We will."

Elsie left the engine running as Charles went for food. It was dark and frosty out; she'd almost forgotten how cold it was back home, how Scotland appeared to have its own weather system separate from the rest of Britain.

Fiddling with the temperature controls she sat back in her chair, stretching out her legs and staring out into the darkness of the car park. There were still quite a few people about, despite it not being a particularly busy town, and she watched as families and singletons alike searched for their cars and piled them with their buys. The first hints of rain came, scattering shoppers as they headed for their cars and home.

Elsie turned on the wipers, keeping a look out for Charles and preparing to rush out and help him with the bags if needed. She could do with a hot bath, truth be told, and a very large whisky.

There was a young lady, hardly more than a girl, struggling with her pram and the weight of her bags and Elsie opened her car door without even leaving time to consider, the warning alarm sounding as she dashed into the rain.

"Let me help," she insisted, taking hold of the bags.

"Oh thank you, so awkward with this thing." The girl headed to a small car, pulling her car keys from her bag. "Still getting used to having to do it all."

"I can imagine; friend of mine had a baby not too long ago, so yes, I know." She popped the bags into the boot. "They okay there?"

"Great thanks. Thanks so much."

"Oh you're more than welcome," Elsie shielded her head a little as she ran back to her car, pausing momentarily by the door, the light from inside blinding her vision somewhat. A man seemed to be staring at her; he was no more than a couple of metres away, and she stopped and stared back, just for a few seconds, and recognition kicked in. Her heart raced, she could hear her blood pumping in her ears, and the rain soaking through her clothes.

Then she got in the car, slammed the door shut and pressed the central locking button.

Elsie didn't even notice Charles had returned until he tapped his knuckles against the glass. "You've locked it," his muffled voice said.

"Oh god, sorry," she unlocked the car and he quickly got inside. "That came on quick." He shook the rainwater from his hands. "You okay?"

"What? Oh yes, course."

"Got the cheese, got your favourite too. And wine. Crusty bread. A romantic night at the old farm by the fire."

"Yes…" she put the car into gear, "let's get going before it's too bad for me to see the roads."

* * *

"What are you reflecting on?" Charles asked, laying out the cheeses on the only plate he could find in the cupboard – a chipped one at that, which is presumably why it had been left there.

"Nothing," Elsie poked at the fire. "Been making this fire since I was about seven."

"I'm guessing that's why you got a real fire yourself."

"Yes, not many houses have them now. Too much trouble I guess."

"I guess so."

"We used to sit here, the four of us. Awful winters you get here, snow after snow after snow, and icy winds cutting down the fields."

"I can imagine."

"This room was the warmest in the house, so we'd all sit here, during those nights. Sleep here too sometimes. We had a sofa along that back wall, Becky and I would sleep on it, sometimes mum too."

"They're nice memories," Charles said, sitting at the table and pouring wine into mugs.

"You think he'll be happy?"

"I think he already is." He held out his hand to her, "Stop worrying. Come and sit down, let's eat, you'll feel better after you get some food and drink in you."

She wasn't so sure but did as he asked and took the seat beside him; bless him, he'd made it look so lovely, despite the limited resources.

"I worry I've made a mistake," she said softly, lifting her drink to her mouth. "I've made so many of them over the years."

"You haven't made a mistake. This isn't a mistake." He said firmly, placing his hand over her free one on the table. "It's hard yes, but it isn't a mistake. And you have to stop carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders." He squeezed her hand, "So cheer up, because it'll soon be Christmas, and we're together, we've made it through a year."

She tilted her head, giving him a lopsided grin, "The first of many?"

"One would hope so." He leant forward and kissed her forehead, "Now, let's eat, and talk about other things, like the news or the weather or who cooks Christmas dinner."

"Together," she said quickly, "we'll do it together."

* * *

"I can't believe this is your old bedroom," Charles said, lifting a hand up and easily touching the old wooden beams.

"I know, it seems so empty now." She opened one of the black bags and took out a blanket, opening it out and spreading it over the bed. "I used to hang decorations from those beams at Christmas, Dad told me off one year for hammering nails in – my excuse was that tape didn't stay up for the whole of December."

"Fair point. Did he give in?"

"No, we came to a truce and agreed on drawing pins."

Charles smiled, reaching for the other side of the blanket and helping to cover the bed. Elsie took another from the bag and placed it on top.

"How many do we need?"

"It gets cold up here, believe me. The heat doesn't climb this high."

"Oh but you've got me to cuddle you."

"So I have," she smiled, "the last of my boyfriends to see this bedroom."

He frowned at that, grumbling, "I don't want to even consider the fact that you might have had boys in here when you were young."

"Don't worry, it never went further than kissing or the quick grope," she teased, ignoring the sharp memory of Geoff sneaking into her bed in the middle of the night. "It was kinda nice, having an attic room though. I always felt I was a bit cool having it."

"Did you adorn the walls with popstars?"

"Of course, had all my posters up. My bookcase was here," she pointed it out, "And I arranged them by the date I purchased them."

"Impressive," he sat back on the bed, wobbling a little as it sagged in the middle. "This is a very old bed."

"It is," she turned to look at him, his hands pressing into the mattress.

"Can feel the springs," he pointed out frowning, "we might need to pop a quilt beneath our bodies too."

"Oh dear, and your back can be bad… sorry." She ran her hand along the edge of the wooden frame, "We don't need it at the bungalow, so I thought we might as well leave it here. A new mattress and it'd be fine; the frame is quality."

"Do you want to keep it?"

"There's no room at the bungalow."

"I meant, do you want to take it home with us?"

"How would we get it there?"

He shrugged, "See if it comes apart I guess, then decide if we can drive it, or hire someone to, a removal firm."

"Seems an expense for one bed," she said sharply then turned away from him, moving around the room again. "I had a little desk here where I did my homework and wrote rubbish in my diary. And this," she opened the door that led to a built-in cupboard, "I had hangers in here, look, here." She pointed them out. "Dad put those in for my clothes, shoes in a mess beneath."

"I'm picturing it all."

She smiled, "Cheap perfume and a stain on the carpet where I once dropped my blusher and it crumbled all over. Spent ages trying to pick it out with cotton wool."

"The things we do as kids."

"Yes," she sighed, "the things we do."

She stood at the bottom of the bed, leaning on the wooden frame, "You're tired?"

"I am. Busy day shifting belongings."

"I know, I can't believe this is almost it…" she gazed out of the huge window that looked out to an inky night. "That this won't be my bedroom anymore, not my farm, not in the family."

"No. But family is more than a building."

She nodded, "I know," and went to draw the curtains. "And I know 100% that it's the right thing to do, of course you're right, for both of them. Dad already looks ten years younger not having the daily grind of farm life on his back."

"He does, I thought so too."

"Thank you for coming up," she switched off the main light and Charles turned on the solitary bedside lamp that stood on the floor by the bed. "I'm grateful, just to have your support."

"I did say I would, and you know it's no problem. After my behaviour over Sybil I think it's about time I held you up, don't you?"

She smiled, a small tight smile, and then lifted her top up and over her head, "Right now I just want to lie down, not be held up, so a cuddle will do."

He opened his arms, "Anytime, you know that."

He lay watching her undress; the way she hung her jumper and jeans over the radiator, her bra over the bottom of the bed and then climbed beneath the sheets, shuddering as she fussed about with her feet, seeking one of the two water bottles she'd put in there.

"Are you getting undressed?" She asked, pulling the blanket up to her neck and settling down.

"I am, but I'm not sure I want to."

"Do it quickly, like ripping off a plaster."

He got up from the bed and undressed in less than a minute then retreated beneath the sheets, Elsie's foot pushing the second water bottle towards his feet.

"Like two old people," he noted, resting the soles of his feet on the source of warmth. "It's very quiet here, isn't it?" He stated, reaching down to switch off the lamp.

"I guess," she turned onto her side, her cheek pressed against his upper arm as he lifted it up and around her. She lifted one leg up and over his, curling their bodies together. "If you listen, if you're still, you can hear the whole of life out there. Everything that comes to life in the dark. Many a night I sat by that windowsill watching foxes play in the yard, scavenging for food, or out on the field – huge hares racing about. Owls. Bats."

"Hard to imagine you as being so in-touch with nature."

"I know right, how things change." She closed her eyes, "Just listen."

He kissed the top of her head, "I am."

* * *

There's that eerie feeling that comes in the early hours of a new day. People are never sure whether to term it night or morn, not quite dawn but long past midnight. The air is thick and still, settled, resting – a great pause before a new day.

The farmhouse creaks in these hours, a gentle stirring of its backbone as it breathes. There were times in its history when it had been full with a bulging family, times when it had shared in the tears of heartbreak or the lovemaking of young couples. Rows in its high-ceiling rooms; childish yells down the halls.

There's a sense of it closing down now, drawing in upon itself. It is old and even great houses, like great men and women, must have their day.

Elsie is dreaming. In her mind she can hear the familiar creaks of the beams above her, running high into the attic. The rattle of roof tiles as the wind whips around the corner of the house. It is all second nature to her; she was once part of this building and its upkeep and she knows it well.

Behind her Charles sleeps soundly, pressed against her back, his arm around her waist, a heavy weight. The many sheets are pulled up high over his shoulder, draping down over Elsie's slight frame. The beat of his heart is against her shoulder blade, his deep even breathing in her ear.

The face of the man is different but she knows him by his stature. By the way he holds himself, the movement of his chin, the twitch of his hand in mid-air. Even his breathing perhaps, the way she knows Charles'. Only this makes her feel different. This makes her feel small inside, like her stomach has dried up and shrunk and there's no room to breathe.

She can hear his feet on her carpeted floor, the press of his toes, she can pinpoint where his feet land. And then he's there, a looming dark figure at the side of the bed.

Elsie's body jerks forward with such force Charles shouts a warning to would be assailants as he instantly wakes and reaches out for her.

"What?! Who's there?" He grips her arm, feels her trembling and quickly moves to switch the lamp on. "Elsie?"

She blinks wide-eyed into the sudden brightness, mechanical almost as she scans the room, moving in a circular motion to make sure no corner is missed. "Somebody was there, a man was there."

"Where?"

"By the bed."

"Darling there's nobody here, just you and I." He assures her. "Do you want me to check the house?"

She stares at him, the image so clear in her mind she can't quite shake the fact it wasn't real. "I saw him."

Charles threw back the sheets, "I'll go look around."

"No," she shakes her head, "No, I mean I saw him earlier today."

"Who?"

"Geoffrey."

Suddenly there's a lump in Charles' throat, "Where?"

"At the supermarket. He was watching me; I saw him in the rain and I… I locked the car. I panicked and locked the car."

His hand is on her arm again, "Why didn't you say?"

"I suppose I wasn't sure. And then just now, I must've dreamt it, that he was standing right here beside the bed. I could see him so clearly."

"But he isn't here."

"No, I know." She laid down again, her face pale, eyes dark. "It was just a dream. Things playing on my mind I suppose."

"You sure you don't want me to go check?"

"No, it's fine. Really."

Now wide awake Charles turned off the lamp and lay on his side beside her, gathering her body into his arms and kissing the side of her head. "You know I'd never let anyone hurt you, never."

"I know."

"You seem scared."

"I was just… it unnerved me, seeing him like that, staring at me. If it had been a different situation then I would have been okay but it just seemed odd."

"You're not scared of him?"

"He's an old man now."

"That doesn't mean you can't be scared of him. Were you ever scared of him, back then, I mean?"

She reflected on it then shook her head, "No, not afraid. I was fucking him; I wasn't afraid of him."

He grimaced at her choice of language, "Don't say that."

"It's the truth, as plain and basic as human need is."

"Perhaps, but don't say it, I don't like to think of it."

"Does it make you see me differently? The thought of me behaving like that?"

He licked his lips; he doesn't like it when she gets in this mood, she's tetchy, on the edges of an argument. "I just don't like how negatively you can view yourself, that's all I mean."

She huffed, screwing her mouth up before adding in a gentler tone, "I was afraid of my feelings, afraid of being caught out by someone, but not of him. I think it's more the memory of the guilt he brings, of how much I hated myself." She turned onto her side to face him, "I'm sorry I woke you."

"That hardly matters. And you know… I do understand, how you feel about it. The guilt. I've been there too. Still there, at times."

"Your son?"

It's been so many months since she's mentioned it, a part of him hoped she'd forgotten.

"I still feel such shame over it."

"But that does nobody any good," she said gently, her fingertips pressing into his shoulder. She smiled with realisation, "Pot calling kettle."

"What a pair," he kissed her forehead again. "When Sybil died I kept thinking of him, of how if anything ever happened to him like that, like with Tom, that I wouldn't be able to help. I'm nothing more than a distant family friend."

"You know you're whatever you want to be. Alice doesn't have sway. If you want to be in William's life as his father then that's up to you."

"It would damage so much." He shook his head, "It would be selfish of me."

"Sometimes we need to be selfish. There were times, when Tom was sobbing on my shoulder, I thought 'I wish it were me', not Sybil."

"God no, never that," he held her even tighter, kissing the top of her head. "That is selfish of me, I know, but I need you."

"I need you too." She slid her hands around his back. "I'll support you, whatever you decide to do with William."

"I know." He reached for her hand, lacing his fingers with hers, "Which is why you can talk to me of anything. If things are bothering you… being here, seeing that man, painful memories… you can tell me anything. It won't change how I feel about you, or how I view you. I just can't stand the thought of you hating yourself."

She nodded, "I don't like to remember."

"Neither do I, I hate remembering the mistakes I've made. I hope I've learned from them but not always."

"Well exactly, I seem to make the same ones. The men over the years may have been younger than me not older but it was the same, in a way, looking for something in the wrong place. I shudder when I think of him touching me, that I let him touch me."

"I think sex comes with a side helping of guilt."

Her eyebrows rose, "Us?"

"Not sex." He said firmly.

"But it was, at the start, I was repeating my same pattern."

"Maybe. But I wasn't. And it's still different because it's you and I, and that makes it different."

"True. I suppose you're right."

"I always am, you just don't always want to accept that."

She chuckled at his teasing expression.

"Your hair's growing so much longer." He said, pushing it behind her ear with the pads of his fingers.

She pulled back a little, blinking up at him in the dim light. "Sorry, is it in your face?"

"No, I just want to see _your_ face," he kissed her nose, "you're so beautiful, you know that." He pressed a kiss to her mouth, "The most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

"I don't believe that," she smiled, drawing her hand up over his arm, "But I like hearing it all the same."

He chuckled, leaning in to kiss her again, "Nothing's like this," he whispered, his heart singing with joy as she pressed her warm body against his. "Nothing could ever be like this."

"Thank you for staying here with me; I'm glad of having one last night here, after so many years away, but I'm even happier it was with you."

"The end of an era?"

"I suppose I am not that farm girl anymore. I haven't been for a very long time."

"Life changes us, things happen, we react, we adapt."

"Do you think we've adapted to being together? In the nicest possible way, I mean that."

"In a romantic way you mean," he smiled, his thumbs rubbing in circles along the back of her neck. "I think we've made it work. There have been times we could have walked away, not called, let it just quietly die."

"It isn't what I expected. Love, I mean."

"Do you mean that romantically too?" He teased and she pressed her hands against his chest.

"Of course. But I mean it isn't all being swept away; it is, some of it, I have been swept away. But it's practical too, in many ways, it's about finding ways to make things work even when you'd rather be stubborn and petulant and walk away."

"Well, I'm glad that fusty old Carson could still sweep you off your feet in some ways."

She laughed, "In many ways sweetheart," she leaned up and kissed him, her fingers sliding up into his hair.

He drew her body flush against his and she settled her head beneath his chin, listening to the steady beat of his heart alongside the creak and pull of the house.

"I keep crying over Sybil, at random moments, like a silly child." He suddenly whispered into the darkness, "I'm not used to that. It seems like losing control and I never do."

"There's nothing silly about it," she assured him, her hand rubbing his chest "It's just grief, I do the same."

"You do?" He shifted his head a little to listen to her, glancing down to her face.

"Of course. But I suppose I cry more for Tom, for his loss, and the baby and what she'll never have."

"I'm not a crier," he huffed, "never have been. Quite surprising to me, feeling like this. Maybe it's age."

"Maybe it's me."

He kissed her head again, "It's definitely you."

Elsie moved again, turning over drawing her face level with his, "I would certainly never have imagined you being quite such a romantic, when we met I mean."

"I think it rather surprised my friends too." He placed both of his hands to her face, brushing back her hair and pulling her to him to kiss her deeply. His fingers slid down her bare back as they continued to kiss, her light breathy moans filling his mouth as the tips of his fingers enjoyed the silkiness of her body.

She was smiling when they parted, her eyes bright with happiness. She tiptoed her fingers down his forehead and along his nose to his chin and he opened his mouth, nipping at her index finger. She giggled, tapping her fingers against his lips.

"Your nails are chipped," he said, kissing her knuckles.

"That's domestic work for you," she glanced at them, "I'll get them fixed when we get home. Festive ones."

"Does that mean glitter?"

"Perhaps, maybe just red."

He waggled his eyebrows, "Sexy."

"There'll be no sexy time over Christmas with the Brady Bunch living with us."

"Oh no? Not even Christmas Eve?" he squeezed her bottom, "Not even if we're exceptionally quiet, to the point of not making even a sound."

"Oh what could be sexier?" She teased and he groaned as her hand reached down between his legs. "You see, you can't be quiet."

"You caught me off guard."

"Did I now…?"

He tickled her waist and she giggled as he easily lifted her body, turning them over so he could lean over her.

"Stop it, that tickles, Charles," she gasped.

"Caught you off guard, didn't I?" He brushed his nose against hers and she tilted her head back, finding his mouth with hers.

How fitting it was, she thought as his mouth moved over her body, that her last night in this house was spent in the arms of a man who truly loved her. Things were shifting and changing, perhaps too quickly to really grasp what it meant. There were times she wished she could stop it, make everything slow down so she could stand back and appreciate the good parts, grieve over the bad.

His hands made things slow, his mouth, his kisses, the sweet heady feel of him inside her. The way he loved her.

She wrapped her legs around him, her hands on his back and Charles marvelled at how they fell into rhythm together. How wonderful this was.

"I love you," he heard her breathe life in the words, felt her mouth by his ear, the softness of her tongue. "I love you, I love you…" she said urgently.

"I know," he kissed her mouth, "I love you too."

"Don't stop," she searched his face, "you won't ever stop?"

His movements stilled and he searched her face; her eyes seemed to shine with tears and his heart ached for her.

"You know I won't. Do you fear that?"

She shook her head, biting down on her bottom lip. "I don't want to lose this. Don't want to mess it up."

"Elsie," he lowered his mouth to her, kissing her gently now, tenderly. "That won't happen. Ever."

"You left…" she said frankly and he realised that all that had happened over the past couple of months seemed to be coming together right here, in this old house that she was leaving behind.

"And I'm so sorry for that, I made a –,"

"– It hurt me," she cut in. "It hurt that you couldn't talk to me, you left instead."

He sighed, felt his body physically ache with the idea that he could have caused her pain. "I didn't leave you. I left the situation. Listen to me, I would never, ever, purposefully hurt you." He shook his head, "I'm so sorry Elsie, I suppose I'm still learning. I would never… We can't know where life is going to take us. But whatever happens, don't doubt that I love you. Ever."

* * *

 **Wednesday 6** **th** **December**

The rain, thankfully, had worn itself out overnight and given way to clear skies. It remained frosty though, and Charles had slid more than once as he approached the car with the last few boxes and bags ready for transportation.

The house was nothing more than a shell now and when he'd woken that morning he'd found Elsie wandering from room to room, distracted by memories, entranced by them. Now she was all business, absolutely focussed on getting the job done; she was possibly the most efficient person he'd ever worked with. They seemed to complement each other and there was a part of him that had pondered, momentarily, on the idea of this business that she'd raised. They probably could work together; the question mark seemed to hang over whether he could work with Tom or not. But then who knew what Tom would want now. So much had changed.

"How are we looking?" Elsie asked, startling him as she approached from behind. "Is it full?"

"Almost. We may have to do two trips."

"I can sit with some things on my lap if it helps," she said eyeing up how he'd packed the back of the Range Rover, chewing down on her bottom lip. "Because we'll still have to come back and do a few trips to the refuse site."

"I'd forgotten that joy."

"Sorry," she touched his arm, standing on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "Worth it?"

"Mmm…" he hummed lowly, frowning and she chuckled.

"Killjoy," she said, squeezing his arm before she headed back across the yard, wrapping the cerise cardigan she wore around her body.

"Elsie?" A voice called and she turned again, shielding her eyes against the winter sun as she searched for the source of the voice. "I wondered if you'd still be here. Hoped to catch you."

"Joe?"

"Surely it's not been that long, has it?" He laughed, "Come here," and scooped her into a hug.

Charles watched awkwardly, leaning against the open car door as he observed the friendly embrace.

"My how distinguished you look," Elsie said, leaning back, Joe's hands still on her arms. "When did you grow a beard?"

"Couple of years since; hides my wrinkles somewhat."

"Oh you're not wrinkly."

"I am." Joe said, "You, mind, look as stunning as always…"

Charles shut the car door and approached them.

"…Your hair was short last time I saw you, looks like you used to have it when we were kids now."

"I doubt that very much." She glanced to Charles' face. "Joe," she said, pulling her arms from his hold and reaching for Charles' hand, "This is my…" she suddenly laughed and Charles did the same. "Sorry," she said, "we had this joke over how I'd introduce him."

"She said I'm too old for 'boyfriend', truth be told." Charles said, holding his hand out, "Charles Carson."

"My _man_ friend," she added, smiling delighted.

Joe shook his hand, "Bout time she brought someone home to meet the folks."

"Good to meet you Joe."

"She told you about me?" He jerked his chin towards Elsie.

"She er…"

"Don't make him feel uncomfortable," she said, her hand sliding around to rest on Charles' back. "But yes I have, he knows we were engaged and that I was a total bitch to you."

"I wouldn't call you that. Different time, we were both young. And it all worked out for the best," he stared at Elsie's face, "you never would've been happy, settled, and I suppose I always knew that. Was just holding on whilst I could."

"You're always so sweet to me and I'm not sure I deserve it."

"You're probably right," Joe teased. "How's Doug coping?"

"Surprisingly well, I rang earlier and he told me to stop fussing – they'd slept fine, managed to cook breakfast and were rearranging the unpacking I'd already done."

Joe laughed, "Sounds about right. Sad to lose this place I bet though," he glanced up wistfully at it and Charles wondered how he felt about it all really. Given other choices, a different time and place, this would've been his, as would the woman standing between them.

"And how is Ivy, and your children?"

"Good, yes, she's doing better thanks."

"Dad mentioned she'd been ill; I'm sorry to hear that."

Joe turned from the building to face her, "Not been easy Els, but she's okay now, getting there anyhow."

"Good."

"Everyone's been great, helping out… well, you know how it is here, everyone chips in."

"Yes, I remember." She licked her lips, looped her hands together in front of her.

"Well, I best get going, back to work and all that and you've got plenty to do," he pulled her into another hug, kissing her cheek. "You take care, won't you?"

"And you, and Ivy."

"Maybe have a drink with us next time you visit; you coming up for Christmas or anything?"

"Hopefully they'll be coming to us," She said.

" _Us_ ," he smiled at Charles. "That's good. And wow, Doug heading down south of the border, that's a first."

"Tell me about it, I'm trying not to jinx it. Becky's so excited."

"Of course. Enjoy it, have a good time." He backed away, "Good luck with the rest of today too."

"Thank you, take care."

"And you. Nice to meet you Charles."

"And you," he called after him, watching him wander off down the muddy lane. He really couldn't imagine Elsie being with him, if he was honest, not with a man in a flat cap and mud splattered clothes. "Nice chap," he said. "Broad accent."

"Hasn't he?" She said, heading towards the house. "Funny how you notice it now, I suppose when I lived here mine was as strong."

"Harder to imagine that," he followed her inside. "I like your soft Scottish accent."

"Of course you do, you like everything about me." She teased, turning in the great empty hallway to face him.

"Very true. You okay, seeing him?"

"Yes," she said softly, "we get on fine, we settled any awkwardness many years ago."

He moved closer to her, watching how the sunlight filled the space, catching the hints of gold thread in her hair; the specks of azure in her eyes reminding him of the water they swam in together in Spain. "Good. Nice man. Seems to be."

"He is," she slid her hands into Charles', "just not what I wanted. Didn't make me happy."

He felt her chest press against his, "And now?"

"Couldn't be happier," she stood on her tiptoes to kiss him, "the farm girl from back then could never have envisioned how much." She pressed her lips to his, kissing him warmly, "Some things are worth waiting for."


	30. Chapter 30

_Apologies for the delay - festive time over and back to work :-( We can still enjoy Chelsie's Christmas though x_

* * *

 **Chapter 30**

 **Monday December 12** **th**

"Unbelievable," Charles muttered, rustling the newspaper in his hands and turning the page in disgust.

"What?"

"Just unbelievable."

Elsie sighed, "What is? You're starting to sound like Meldrew."

"There's a show on here tonight, on television…"

She didn't look up from her laptop, "Mm…"

"Guess what it's called. You'll never guess…" he paused for effect, "The Perfect Penis."

She smirked, "Are you telling me you'd like to watch it?"

He folded the paper in half and threw it onto her desk, "I can't believe these shows get made, unbelievable."

"You said that several times," she glanced over the top of her glasses at him, "Are you here for a reason or just to distract me?"

"What are you doing?"

"Going through my accounts, I say that, I really mean reading through the notes from my accountant. Now the properties have sold and with my share of the money from the farm I'm actually in quite a healthy state," she said proudly, slipping her glasses off. "So you can expect a decent Christmas present."

"I expected that anyway."

"Confident, aren't we?" She teased, leaning back in her chair and stretching her arms above her head. "If you let me work now we might actually find some time together tonight, snuggle for a bit, maybe watch this penis show."

"We are _not_ watching that."

"Don't you want to learn all about how to get the perfect penis?"

"I do not… and stop bandying that word about so freely."

"No need to be shy, you score quite highly in that area –,"

"Elsie! Really," he said gruffly, "it's the middle of the day."

She laughed, "Scarcely midday. I forget how English you are at times."

He rolled his eyes at that, "When you going to let me get the decorations up? You keep putting me off."

"For good reason. I hate all the mess, it's all fuss and mess. Have you not noticed my house has order?"

" _My_ house?" He said pointedly.

"You know what I mean." She reached her hand across and tapped her fingertips against his knuckles, "We will do it. I'll find time."

"I just don't want to risk the fact there won't be any decent trees left."

"Are you kidding me? There's an abundance of trees, and if worse comes to worse we can make do with a nice fake one. Now, don't give me that look."

"Now that's a scandalous suggestion – fake trees."

"I always have had fake trees. In fact, last year I didn't even bother putting it up, just the other decorative stuff."

"What?!"

"Well what would be the point? There's only really me to look at it and I was home so little over Christmas."

He shook his head at her, "Definitely time we started new traditions then, for your own good."

"How lucky I am to have you take me in hand Mr Carson."

He dipped his chin to her, "Don't you know it." He turned her hand over and bent to kiss her palm, "I'll let you get on."

"Alright. What are your plans today?"

"I'm meeting with Thomas, finalising the details for our services over the festive period."

"That sounds good."

"Mm," he shrugged, "we'll see. We're busy, odd how presently we seem more in demand than ever before. I don't know whether I can be bothered with it all… _what_?"

" _What_ , what?"

"That look you gave me."

"I didn't give you a look." She folded her hands together, resting her elbows on the desk.

"Yes you did, that 'I know better' look."

"I'm so glad my looks enable you to read my mind –,"

"Don't get tetchy."

" _I'm_ the one being tetchy…?"

He shook his head and got to his feet, "Fair enough. I best get going anyhow, leave you be."

"Sweetheart…"

"I know I was short," he said, "my fault."

She chewed her lip, "Charles, if you want… I mean if you don't want to do it anymore that's one thing. But…"

"But?"

"Don't take this the wrong way, I'm not being mean" she got to her feet, moving close to him. "There can't just be me, do you understand? In your life."

"You're right, that does sound a bit mean…"

"Oh Charles," she pressed her hands to his chest, "I'm not being mean, never, darling," she stood on her tiptoes to kiss him, "never for a second. I just want you happy, and I think you like what you do." She fiddled with his collar, "I'm not saying I want you to be travelling all over the world mind, I rather like having you around."

His brow was furrowed as he stared down at her, "I understand what you're saying. I don't like it," he pouted, "but I understand."

"I really don't know where this idea that men sulk like babies comes from."

"Alright," he kissed her head. "I'll toddle off and do man things and aim not to sulk."

"Good. Enjoy it, and maybe sound things out with Thomas – how he feels about it all," she retook her seat and put her glasses back on.

"Yes… Have a good day."

"I'll try."

"Don't work too hard and come home to me too tired to decorate the house."

She glared at him, "I'll call you later, let you know how it's going."

* * *

When he reflected on it later, he wasn't quite sure what had driven him to suddenly take on such a mammoth task all to be completed in one solitary afternoon. He'd been driving home from the meeting with Thomas, contemplating calling off for a mince pie and cup of tea, when he passed a sign for 'Real Trees.'

With very little thought he applied his brakes and turned into the car park. Less than forty minutes later he'd purchased three, yes three, Christmas trees: 'fresh not fake' as it said on the tag.

He wasn't sure of Elsie's supplies so he'd bought matching pots too. Two were the same size – he figured one for the kitchen, one for the lounge, and the third slightly smaller for the hallway, in his mind's eye he had the perfect spot for it so you could see it as you entered the house. There was also a fresh wreath and six poinsettias – three red, three white. Elsie would go mad if she saw the receipt so he made sure that ended up in shreds at the bottom of the kitchen bin.

It wasn't until he was pulling onto the drive, with his back seat and boot covered in pine needles and an empty fruit box full of flowers squashed into the passenger foot well, that he realised he might have gone just a tad overboard. But it was too late by then to change anything – he might as well go the whole hog.

He transported the flowers inside and laid out black bin bags on the kitchen floor; adrenaline pumping as he changed into more casual clothes and then brought in the trees. He'd had them potted at the store so the most he had to do was cut free the net and trim anything he thought untidy. The difficult bit was finding the right spot – the kitchen was spacious and light so that wasn't too much of an issue. He shifted the small display cabinet Elsie had by the back door, moving it into the far corner instead, and placed the tree in front of it; there was still enough room to get in and out of the door if you wanted to access the garden, you just couldn't see the cabinet anymore. He hoped Elsie wouldn't mind that too much; in fact, he had a niggling thought at the back of his mind that he hoped she wouldn't mind any of this.

In the lounge, he decided she'd usually have her tree in the corner near the window, again it blocked one of the bookcases but it was close enough to the fire to look festive without causing a hazard. And he could picture it, lit up with fairy lights and the fire going, how cosy the whole thing would look.

The small tree fit perfectly in the hall as he'd imagined, and he started with that one decoration wise. He'd already brought over all his boxes of decorations a week or two before and Elsie had showed him where hers were stored in the loft so he got them all out and decided he'd mix the two; that was, after all, the way things were going to be now. In fact, he'd organise himself and get large plastic tubs and pack this away properly come January, he'd feel good about that, organising it all.

He found a box of silver and white balls amongst Elsie's things and settled on those for the small tree along with a string of simple white lights. After digging around in his own boxes, he located a silver star and placed that on top – when he stood back and admired his handiwork he felt rather proud of himself. Not bad for somebody with about as much decorating talent as a snowman.

It took him considerably longer to complete the tree in the kitchen; he tried as best as he could to stick to some sort of theme – in her collection there was a lot of purple and silver so he used that in there, and by the time he'd finished it was gone four and he thought of Elsie being home soon and perhaps wanting to save the last tree to do together.

He rang her, despite the fact she was only three minutes walk away, and she said she'd be done for 6:30; he promised dinner for 7:00. He put jacket potatoes in the oven; he'd make a salad later and open a bottle of wine but he wanted to time it just right – she'd been so busy of late, understandably, and it would be nice to have a quiet evening together finishing the decorating. Making their home festive. Funny how it suddenly occurred to him that he'd never done that with anybody before, being a child and hanging decorations with his parents didn't count; doing it in his own home with the woman he loved, now that made all the difference. In fact, it gave a whole new meaning to festive celebrations.

The poinsettias were arranged as he waited for the kettle to boil – two in the under-used dining room – red at one end of the table, white at the other. Elsie had plants in the hallway, one either side of the door in blue pots on top of stands. He took them down and replaced them with the festive plants and stored the others away in the cupboard under the stairs. The final poinsettias went one on the lounge coffee table, one on the kitchen table and he hung the wreath on the front door, leaving the porch light on so she'd see it as soon as she arrived home. He made a fire, turned down the lights, placed candles on the kitchen table and made one final touch just prior to her arrival.

* * *

Elsie's toes were pinching and her back ached after a day spent at her desk, she much preferred getting out and about during the day and there were often times she wondered why she bothered putting on a smart outfit and wearing heels when she was going to spend the day in a custom-built office above her garage! Still, she told herself it was professionalism and she was all the better for it.

Locking up, she made her way down the spiral staircase, slipping a little on the driveway; it was already frosty and in the light of the porch she could see the speckled shine of forming ice. She blinked up at the light, grateful for Charles leaving it on, and then she noticed the wreath hanging on the door and smiled. A real one. A fresh one, complete with red berries and pinecones. _So, he'd made a start with the decorations then_. Glancing to her feet she noticed a small tumbler and bent to pick it up, taking a sip of the liquid and closing her eyes – Baileys.

She pushed open the door, "Are you trying to make me feel festive, Mr Carson?" She asked, and then gasped, taking in the lights he'd strung around the pictures and the mirror in the hall, the tree in the corner. The entire space glowed.

"Festive enough?" He whispered, leaning against the door to the kitchen.

"Oh my," she let her bag fall to the floor, "I see you've had a busy afternoon."

"Wanted to surprise you," he said, suddenly feel rather nervous. "You don't mind, do you?"

" _Mind_? Of course I don't mind," she moved to kiss his cheek, hugging him with one arm, the other hand still holding the glass. "It looks wonderful in here."

"There's more," he said eagerly, pushing open the kitchen door.

She followed him in, "You've put a tree in here." She exclaimed, crossing over to it, "I never thought of that, it looks lovely."

"You're sure?"

"Yes I like it." She glanced over her shoulder at him, "And candles too, are we having a romantic dinner?"

"Something like that."

"The tree looks wonderful, and we do spend most of our time in here I guess."

"Oh but there's one in the lounge too," he quickly pointed out.

"A third tree?!" She put her glass down on the table, "How much did you spend? How the hell did you transport them?"

He chuckled, "They squashed in, though I have a fair amount of pine needles to hoover up tomorrow."

"Sweetheart," she held his upper arms, leaning up to kiss his mouth. "This is so wonderful. Thank you."

"You're welcome, I want you to enjoy it, I want us to enjoy it. I realised today that I've never had a proper Christmas with the woman I love, never had the chance to have a festive home, with our families here – I feel rather giddy about it all."

"So I see…" she teased, shaking her head at him.

"A little over the top?"

"Hm, maybe just a little. But, we certainly look festive now. Can I see the lounge tree?"

"Ah, now that one is a blank canvas; thought it'd be nice to do it together after dinner, so the remaining boxes are piled up in there."

"I like that idea too," she kissed him again. "Do I have time for a shower then, before dinner?"

"Don't shower, I have another plan too."

She rolled her eyes, "Are we showering together?"

"No, well perhaps if I do a good job, but we'll see how it goes."

"What's the plan, Charles?"

He tapped the side of his nose, "All in good time, now, go get changed and I'll serve dinner."

"Yes boss."

* * *

In the warm glow of the firelight, and the sight of a lovingly decorated tree, Charles' plan came together.

"Now, this was one of your better ideas."

"I always have good ideas," he said, kissing the back of her neck.

"Ah, no kissing or mauling of the client," she warned, stretching her spine like a cat before the warmth of the fire.

Charles knelt back, looking down at her lying naked before him; her skin shone with the massage oil he'd already applied to her back and the twinkle of the lights from the Christmas tree danced upon her porcelain skin.

"You've stopped – what are you doing?" She mumbled, her eyes closed, face in restful repose and turned towards the warmth of the fire.

"Admiring your bottom beneath the fairy lights."

"Charles," she instinctively reached back with one hand to cover it.

"Oh don't do that," he leant forward again, kissing her shoulder blades as he eased her hand away. "It's a lovely bottom."

"It's wobbly."

"It's curvy and round and squeezable and wonderful."

She giggled, "Anything else? You flirt."

"I'm doing more than flirt, my darling." He kissed her again, down her spine. "And I could wax lyrical about the attributes of your perfect bottom for days." His hands gripped her behind before he pressed kisses to it.

"Stop that now," she laughed, wriggling beneath him, "you were doing an important job; don't forget the backs of my thighs – they ache."

"Yes ma'am, and you did promise to do my feet later."

"And I will… after my bath."

"You'll be asleep," He pressed his hands to her thighs, working his thumbs in ever-widening circles. "I've got the poor end of the deal."

"Have you now?" She pushed her hands into the towels he'd laid out on the rug by the fire and turned herself over, giving him time to appreciate the sight before she spoke. "Poor end of the deal…?"

His hands hovered over her belly, almost unsure where to touch first.

"Oh my heart, Ms Hughes, my heart."

He threw himself on top of her and she was laughing and writhing about as he tickled her waist and smothered her chest in kisses.

"Do you want me to tell you all about the trees now?" He asked, kissing her neck. "The type, how we need to take care of them?"

She lifted her chin to encourage the direction of his kisses, "That's alright darling, I think I'm perfectly content with you taking care of that side of things." She pressed her hands into his shoulder blades, "Should I shower now? I'm getting oil on your clothes?"

He lifted his head, waggling his eyebrows at her, "All the better, perhaps?"

"I don't remember you being like this at the start."

"You've awakened something in me."

"Well, I try my best" she pressed her hands against his chest, pushing him back from her. "Now, take off your clothes."

He knelt back again, lifting his shirt up and over his head and throwing it onto the sofa, his eyes fixed on hers as he did so. Elsie lifted her feet and placed them on his chest, digging her heels in.

"Ow," he mock scowled, dipping his head down and kissing her toes. "You may well be the sexiest woman I've ever met." He tiptoed his fingers down her shins.

"And to think, when I left the office tonight I was thinking of nothing more than a bath, pyjamas and a movie."

"Look at what getting a tree in the house does."

She slid her feet down his torso, knees pressed together, "Quite." She pursed her lips, nodding towards his bottom half, "You giving up? Already tired? Prefer the pyjama plan instead? Argh! Charles!" She yelped as he lifted her up from the floor and into his lap.

"Bugger the pyjama plan," he said, his voice low, heady with desire. He stroked her nose with his, "Beautiful woman."

"Mm," she let him hold her, his strong hands on her back as she leant backwards and lifted her legs, wrapping them around his waist. "I'm getting massage oil on your trousers."

"I'll buy new ones," he breathed, his mouth dancing upon her décolletage.

"Perhaps Santa will bring you some."

"Stop talking…" he said, laying her back down on the floor.

* * *

Charles was reflecting on how wonderful life had become; here he was stark naked on the floor of his beautifully decorated lounge, a real fire casting warmth upon his skin, the lights of the beautifully decorated tree tripping over his face and the footsteps of the even more beautiful woman he lived with coming down the hall towards him.

"You took your time," he said, casting a quick glance to her.

She closed the door behind her, "I was getting this; how very sensible of you to refrigerate it."

He squinted at the bottle of Baileys in her hand, much more focussed on how glorious she looked, naked and walking towards him.

"You are stunning, do you know that? Old man like me ending up with all this," he gestured around him.

"Are you already drunk?" She put the bottle down on the floor beside his head.

"Drunk on something." He gazed up at her, "What are you doing? Come and lie down with me."

Instead she stood over him, one foot either side of his hips.

Before Charles, way before Charles, when she was younger, more adventurous, Elsie had been quite the tease at times. She'd always enjoyed sex, she'd told him that, hence her scandalous behaviour with Geoff. And she'd always been keenly aware of her allure to the opposite sex. It had taken many years and much more confidence building before she'd really indulged in that side of life but once she found she could, without feeling the trappings of guilt or judgement, it was rather liberating.

Being with Charles was liberating too, but in quite a different way. Sex with him was about love, about sharing the experience of love, and pleasure was all part of that. She knew how much he liked to shower her with affection, adoration even, how he wanted to make her happy and prove his love over and over. She wanted to fulfil him, bring him joy, share intimacy, trust, affection.

"Elsie…" he whispered, running his hands up her calves. "Amore mio sei bellissima."

She bit down on her lip, lowering herself onto him. His hands slid up her outer thighs, holding her hips as she leant forward to kiss him.

"That sounded divine…"

"You're divine."

"What does it mean?"

"My beautiful love… you don't know Italian?"

"The odd word, a smattering of French." She kissed his chin, nibbled it, "My cultured Mr Carson. I forget you probably know many languages, all about different cultures."

"Part of the service."

"You see what I mean then, be a shame to waste all that wonderful knowledge."

"By quitting the job you mean," he shifted his hands, looping them together at the base of her spine.

"I upset you earlier today when I said about the job… about it not just being me in your life. I didn't mean to, it wasn't my intention, nor to interfere."

"I know."

"I'm sorry," she kissed his mouth, then over his broad chest, "I would never mean to upset you. I just want you to be happy," she looked up at him, her mouth near his stomach, "fulfilled."

"Oh believe me, I very much am."

Eyes sparkling, she reached for the bottle of Baileys, taking a sip from it and then tipping it back just a little too far. Charles jerked slightly as the liquid hit his belly.

"Oops," she said, "I seem to have spilled some."

"That was chilly…" he was about to complain, but then she bent down and licked his stomach and he felt his skin ripple with pleasure at the sensation of her tongue upon him.

Smiling naughtily, she sat back up and took another drink, this time holding the bottle slightly further down.

"Els –," he hissed, pelvis pushing upward.

"Silly me." She stated, putting the bottle onto the coffee table, "I seem to have spilled some more."

* * *

 **Saturday December 16** **th**

"When do they get here, then?" Beryl asked, holding her wineglass up for Charles to refill.

"Next Friday," Charles said, lifting the bottle and pouring her a healthy glug of red wine. "Just got to sort the bed out."

"Oh?"

"You'll think it folly…"

"What makes you think that?" She teased and he rolled his eyes.

"There was a bed, Elsie's bed…"

"What? Where?" Beryl was laughing and Charles wondered if she wasn't already drunk.

"At the farm. Real old thing, you know, heavy wooden thing, all these carved patterns in the bottom," he filled his own glass and took a drink. "Was hers as a child and she was going to get rid of it, I thought it a shame, that's all."

"So it's coming here?"

"It got here yesterday, finally. I spent the afternoon cleaning it up, bit of wood polish and it's come up grand. I thought it could go in the room Becky will use, seemed appropriate."

"That does sound very nice."

"Yeah. Just got to get the mattress, I'll nip out for one tomorrow."

Beryl nodded, an enigmatic smile upon her face, "You surprise me, you know."

"Oh? Why?"

"Well, and I'm not being funny here so don't take it the wrong way."

He frowned; Beryl was nothing if not forthright, even more so than Elsie, and at times he feared what she might reveal. She knew Elsie so well, had been in her life for so very long, that it worried him she might not approve. Which was a ridiculous thought really, they weren't children.

"When you turned up, New Year's Day, you remember?"

"I'd rather not," he put the bottle on the kitchen table, ruffling a hand through his hair. "Silly old sod."

"I don't know, our Elsie can have quite the effect," they both glanced across the room to where Bill was spinning Elsie around in front of the tree, dancing to the Christmas music that seemed to fill the house. "I just didn't imagine…" she started, then paused.

"What? That I was any good for her?"

"I didn't doubt your credentials as a decent man, I doubted that she'd let you in. I didn't imagine she'd finally find 'it' in you."

He frowned, "It?"

"Her missing part, the thing she's been searching for all these years." She leaned forward and kissed his cheek, "You're a fair sort I reckon, a patient chap, and she needs that, whether she'd like to admit it or not."

Charles felt his cheeks warm at her words, "Well, I don't know," he spluttered. "But I do love her, very much."

Beryl nodded, oddly feeling her throat tighten as she listened to him speak.

"In fact there's something you might help me with," he said, dropping his voice to a whisper.

"Go on."

"I've got my Christmas presents now really, but when we were out in town the other evening doing some late-night shopping, she spotted these shiny boots in a shop window that she seemed to like."

"Boots?" Beryl mouthed, turning her back on Elsie and Bill.

"Yes. Shiny ones. Kind of purple, erm, what do you call it? Like burgundy, shiny."

"Patent?"

"That's the thing. Tall ones," he indicated on his leg, "Expensive and she dismissed getting them because of that."

"And you want to get them for her?"

"Only I don't know her size or if it's really a suitable present for a man to get for a woman."

Beryl laughed, "Of course it is, if she likes them. And the size will be in her other shoes, just check, check the boots she already has for a size. I'd guess a six but I can't be exactly sure."

"Right. I'll do that then." He nodded, looking over again to where Bill and Elsie were dancing. "Look at those two."

"I know, they always make a scene. What time the rest of the guests arriving?"

"Now, I shouldn't wonder. Kinda nervous."

"I can tell."

"First time having everyone here, in our home, and Robert and Cora…"

"How are they?"

He shrugged, "I don't know, I can't find the words. Plodding on, trying to live. I invited them, but I don't think they'll come."

"Mary is though, with Matthew, Izzy said."

"She is. I suppose the wedding next year gives something to hope for." He sighed, "They're scared, what with Tom being in Ireland for Christmas, I guess they're scared he won't come back, that they'll lose Sybbie too." He watched Elsie laughing with Bill as she opened the oven door and started to take out trays of food. "Bit awkward you see, what with him and Elsie," he shrugged.

"I understand that," Beryl squeezed his arm, "but there's no reason to think he won't come back?"

"None at all; he rang Elsie yesterday, seems to be doing okay, promised he'd see her in a few weeks."

"Well, there we go then. Don't go worrying when there's no need."

"Are you going to help?" Elsie called across to him. "This party was your idea; may I remind you."

"I suggested a dinner party, not all this bits of food and dancing round the house."

"It's fun," she grinned, "people like snack food and dancing, especially if there's plenty of booze on offer too."

"It's the look of the thing –," he started, but she had already brushed off his words.

"We're hardly staring into the chaos of Gomorrah," she laughed. "What do you think Bill? Dinner party or bits of odds and sods on paper plates?"

"House looks good El," Bill replied diplomatically, taking a handful of nuts from a bowl on the table and all four of them laughed together.

"Of course it's all his doing," Elsie said, nudging her hip against Charles' side. "Like having my own Mr Claus around."

"I should've grown a beard," he helped her arrange the food on platters. "Alfie would've liked that."

"You do know they're going bowling this week," Elsie said over her shoulder to Beryl. "No invite for me."

"You could come. Didn't think you'd fancy it to be honest."

"I can bowl, I'm a good bowler." She insisted.

"She's certainly good with balls," Beryl teased and then held her hands up, "sorry Charles, sorry, I forget you don't like risqué jokes."

"Funnily enough, I'm growing used to them."

"I didn't know you had a cat, Elsie," Bill said, noting the sleeping being on one of the chairs by the radiator.

" _I_ don't," she emphasised.

"You brought it with you?" Beryl asked.

"Not exactly," Charles said, wiping his hands on a dishcloth.

"It's been skulking around my garden for years; this great softie has let it move in. I'm sure it's only a matter of weeks before it's got my place in the bed and I'll be out in the spare room."

"Jealousy is not an attractive look," Charles chuckled as the doorbell rang.

"Ooh more guests," Elsie said.

"We've not even got the food into the dining room," he complained.

"You go greet the guests," Beryl said, "we'll start shifting the food next door."

"Thank you dear," Elsie said, following Charles out to the hall, "we best greet them together, like a proper couple."

"We are a proper couple," he said and she smiled, stretching up to kiss him before he opened the door.

"You're a big grump at times," she teased, squeezing his arm.

* * *

Charles was stacking the dishwasher when Elsie danced in, shaking her hips from side to side in rhythm with the music.

"Come on," she said, "you're missing the fun."

"Is Ethel still doing that limbo thing?"

"Did that embarrass you?" She teased, placing a tray of empty glasses down on the side.

"I was fearful of her breasts falling out at any given moment – I don't need that image in my mind." He set to rinsing the glasses.

"It is rather a risqué dress," she said, sliding her hands around his waist. "But she looks very pretty. Most men would be praying for a breastacle moment."

"Breastacle?" He smirked, glancing over his shoulder at her. "This is an Elsie made up word."

"I have plenty," she pressed her face into his back, breathing in the scent of him through his shirt. "Like Carsoned."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Being Carsoned, I've made it a verb."

He reached for a dishcloth and dried his hands, turning to face her, his arms circling her body. "Alright, I'll bite. Being Carsoned?"

She looked up at him, flushed face, red cheeks from the alcohol and dancing, eyes sparkling with joy. "Being Carsoned, I rather enjoy being Carsoned. You can Carson me now if you like."

"You, Ms Hughes, are drunk."

"Yes, and feeling festive. Lots of festivation going on."

He shook his head at her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Crazy drunk."

"Come dance, this is our song," she said, leaning back, tugging on his hands. " _But I'll be waaaarm this winter_ ," she sang along, her voice wobbly. "I promise I'll cover your eyes if Ethel's breasts make an appearance." She folded her fingers around his, swinging his arms about, "Come festivate with me."

"I'm having a lie in tomorrow, after all this festive action."

"Good," she turned, pulling him across the kitchen and back towards the party, "you can Carson me in the morning too, if you like."

* * *

 **Friday 23** **rd** **December**

"Shit it's cold," Elsie said, rocking back on her heels and clapping her gloved hands together. "Bloody train delays."

"Yep, expected this time of year I guess." Charles took their drinks from the machine and elbowed her, "Here, warm you up."

"Thanks." She took a sip of the overly sweet hot chocolate. "I hope he's been polite, I hope they got on alright."

"Didn't he text?"

"Did he hell. Bloody useless. And there's no signal now, I tried to ring earlier."

Charles watched her carefully; she might deny it, but she was nervous about her father's visit. He could understand it, in all the years she'd lived here he'd never shown one iota of interest in seeing her home, seeing the life she'd carved out for herself. The fact he was visiting now was not just a big step forward, it was mammoth.

She'd been a bit short for the past two days, snapping at Charles over ridiculously small things – the amount of pine needles that came off the trees, cat hair that she seemed to keep finding on her kitchen chairs, the organisation of the visit. Charles had pretty much decided that he was living in a week where it didn't matter what he did, it wouldn't be right, he just hoped it didn't linger for the entire Christmas holiday.

"Least you're done now love," he said, resting his hand on her lower back, "no more work for a couple of weeks."

"Mm," she sipped her drink. "I spoke specifically to the attendant at the local station, I made sure he'd be there to help Dad, get them on the right train at the right time in the right seats. Becky would be nervous too and he's got to deal with that, and carrying the luggage and… bringing presents. I hope he didn't feel he had to spend too much," she chewed on her lip, glancing around the busy platform. "He hardly knows you, he won't know what to buy."

Charles gave up on the sickly drink and threw his paper cup into the bin. Digging his hands into his pockets he turned around, pacing back and forth across the station. From the west side you could see right across the city, it was still early and with the frost it resembled the inside of a snow globe. There were people coming and going, traffic like a never-ending snake, tourists coming to the ancient place, visiting the Cathedral, lunching in town. He couldn't complain really; it was nice to live in a popular town and tourism was a huge part of their income.

"What time do I have to pick up the food order?" Elsie said, and when Charles didn't reply she turned around and realised he was some distance from her, arms folded across his chest as he stared at the view. "Charles," she said a little louder and he turned at the sound of her voice.

"Sorry, what?"

"I said," she lowered her voice, wandered over to join him and leant against the wall, letting her bag fall from her shoulder. "I said, when do I have to pick up the food order?"

"And I told you this morning, I'll do it, I'll nip to Waitrose later."

"You placed it all."

"Well, I seem to have more free time than you." He said gently.

She closed her eyes momentarily, "You shouldn't have to do it all –," she started.

"I don't mi –,"

"They're my bloody family, after all."

Charles looked up sharply at her.

"Sorry, Christ, I'm…" she ran a hand through her hair, then regretted it – she'd spent ages doing her hair that morning; longer hair made for more styling time, she'd get it cut in the new year. "I'm a bag of bloody nerves and I'm being horrid to you," she reached across to press her hand against his, keeping her eyes on the view. "Sorry." She said again.

"It's alright."

"It's not, but thank you. I know I've been hell to live with this week."

"The memory of the lounge floor is keeping me going." He shrugged when she tutted at him, "You've not been that bad, but interesting certainly."

"A bit like walking on eggshells." She smirked, "Or pine needles."

"Bloody hell, don't start with the pine needles again. You were right, okay, next year we get fake ones."

She hooked her arm through his, pushing her fingers through the tiny gap between his arm and his torso. "We'll make it through another year, then?"

He quirked an eyebrow at her, "Maybe a different one to the one that just went by, but yes, I think so."

"Different how?"

"Less sex. More snapping. More traditional male female roles."

"Oh," she giggled, leaning even closer against his arm. "You mean more of me telling you what to do, more of you pretending you're fine with that but inwardly seething and being grateful of the once a month orgasm I allow you?"

"Once a month? That's generous." He chuckled, unfolding his arms and lifting one up and around her body. He kissed the top of her head, "I am here to help you know, I am on your side, try remembering that when I'm pissing you off."

"You haven't pissed me off."

"Really?" He said melodramatically.

"Yes really," she laughed, wrapping both arms around him and pressing her head to his chest. "Love you," she breathed.

"Love you too, relax, enjoy it, Christmas comes but once a year."

"Thank goodness," she mumbled into his coat. "I'm not used to all this effort; I usually just turn up to events, wear a nice dress, dance and flirt mercilessly."

He tugged the bottom of her hair between his thumb and forefinger. "No flirting with anyone but me this year."

She looked up at him, her chin resting on his upper chest, "Spoilsport." She pouted then said more seriously. "Do you really think we'll change?"

"We already have. Only in good ways."

"Less sex?" She whispered.

"Definitely. And more Scrabble. More of roles being divided up, I mean it's about time I took on the gardening role, I am the man after all," he puffed out his chest. "And you should cook more, dust, iron…"

"Hey," she slapped his chest.

"What? A woman's roles."

"I am no ordinary woman."

"God knows I'm well aware of that."

She was giggling as he bent to kiss her.

"We shouldn't cuddle on the platform," she said, "everyone will gossip."

"Let them, it's only going to work in my favour," he kissed her again, squeezing her tight. "I hear a train," he said, and her eyes widened.

"Here we go." They moved back into the station, Elsie reaching for his hand as people gathered at the edge of the platform; students going home for Christmas, others waiting for family to return. "I grew up in a small place Charles, a tiny place."

"I know."

"This is… what if he hates it? Hates where I've chosen to spend my life."

"He won't. Trust me."

* * *

"Well, here we are," Elsie said as Charles pulled the car onto the drive. "Our home."

Becky pressed her forehead to the glass, "This is your house, Elsie?"

"It is," she took her seatbelt off and turned to look at Becky in the back seat. "You want to go inside?"

Becky nodded, pushing open the back door.

"Not far from the station," Douglas commented. "And you live here too now, Charles?"

"I do."

"How long?"

"Dad," Elsie said, rolling her eyes. "Three months."

"Two and a half," Charles corrected and Douglas smiled, nodding his head and getting out of the car. "I'll get the luggage," Charles said, following him, "you go in, it's cold and besides, she wants you to see inside."

He stood back and watched as she led Douglas up the driveway and unlocked the door, letting her father and sister go in front of her.

"It's soooo big!" Becky exclaimed, spinning around in the hallway.

"Calm down," Doug said, slipping his jacket off.

"But look at it! Look at that shiny tree. Is that your tree, your Christmas tree?"

"There's a bigger one in the kitchen, and one in the lounge too." Elsie took their coats, hanging them in the cupboard beneath the stairs.

"You've got three!" Becky yelled, "Can I take my shoes off now?"

"Yes sweetie," Elsie said, "put them in here, I've got slippers for you."

"I can slide on your floor," Becky said, "on my socks, see." She slid down the hall, banging into the wall. "Oops."

"Becky," Douglas' voice was firmer now. "Calm down or you'll have to go rest for a while."

"Right Daddy, sorry."

Elsie watched the interaction with interest, biting on her tongue to stop herself from commenting. Despite the family connection, years and physical distance set her outside of this particular conversation.

"Could do with a cup of tea then Elsie."

"Course Dad, kitchen's this way." She said, leading him through.

"Your kitchen is really pretty," Becky said, working her way around the room, trailing her hands along the kitchen top. "The cupboards are white like the ones in our new house."

"Do you like it Becks? Are you getting used to being there?"

"A-ha," Becky nodded, pausing at the French doors. "I really like my room and I walked on my own the other day to the horses over on Brown's farm."

"Christ!" Douglas exclaimed as Elsie dropped a mug into the sink. "Whatcha doing?"

"I'm sorry, dropped it," she reached in to retrieve the pieces and gasped, snatching her hand back.

"What are you doing?" Charles heard half a conversation as he came into the kitchen, "Did you hurt yourself?"

"Cut my hand," she said.

"Let me look, here," he took hold of her arm, forcing her to open her palm.

"Ow," she complained, closing her eyes.

"Pretty nasty; I'm going to have to just… breathe deeply."

She did so as he gingerly touched the jagged line across her palm, "Sorry darling. Doesn't look too deep, we can just get a bandage on it here, no hospital."

"Elsie has to go to the hospital?" Becky said meekly, and Charles noticed for the first time how she was pressed up by the back doors, like a worried child.

"No she doesn't. She'll be okay."

"I'm fine sweetie," Elsie said, pressing a towel against her hand. "Just a little cut."

"My Christmas mug," Charles noted the smashed mug in the sink. "Would be."

"I'll get you another. It was just a Starbucks thing." Elsie sat at the table across from her father.

"I like Starbucks," Becky said, "the girls from the riding centre got me one, I had foam on top and gold stars."

"Expensive rubbish," Douglas mumbled, reaching across to Elsie's hand. "I'll do the bandage," he said, taking the medical box from Charles.

"We might go Becky, later. I've got to go collect our food order, we could get a Starbucks on the way back. If you want to come with me." Charles knew it was a potentially scary suggestion for her, but to his relief she smiled and he realised she trusted him. "Then I can get a new mug too."

Elsie rolled her eyes at him, her arm stretched across the table as her father carefully cleaned the wound on her hand. She grimaced at the sting and involuntarily pulled back a little.

"Keep still," Douglas said, holding onto her fingers.

"Can I see your garden?" Becky asked, her hand already on the handle.

"Course you can. Key can be stiff though, let me do it," Charles unlocked the door and eased it open. "You want a warm mince pie with your tea?"

"Oh yes please," Becky grinned before stepping outside.

"She's wearing those new slippers you gave her," Doug pointed out without looking up.

"Oh no," Elsie went to call after her, but it was too late, she was already stomping up the grass. "Well, I guess I'll clean them later."

"With a bandage on your hand?" Doug tied it tight. "There done."

"Thank you," she stroked her other hand over it. "Sorry, some welcome."

"It was mention of _him_ , wasn't it, made you jump?"

Charles put the teapot down, "Mention of who?"

"It doesn't matter, it just surprised me, that's all."

"Geoffrey Brown," Douglas said, getting to his feet and standing by the doors watching his younger child.

"Why do you let Becky go there?" Elsie asked.

"Because he didn't touch her." He said sharply.

Elsie felt her cheeks warm, "Dad –," she started.

"I don't choose for her to do it. I've asked her not to but course she doesn't understand why and I'm not about to taint anything her head. There's one daughter I can keep pure. She feeds the horses, nothing more." He pushed open the door, "Becky, come on in now." And then turned to Charles, "That tea will be stewed."

* * *

"Are you alright?" Charles asked, leaning against the bathroom door and watching as Elsie wiped off her makeup.

"Yes," she dropped a cotton wool pad into the bin by the sink. "Would be better if I had more than one working hand for Christmas Day," she said to his reflection in the mirror before turning to face him. "Sorry, won't be much use now."

"I can manage." He pressed his hands to her shoulders, "It'll be alright."

"Wasn't exactly how I envisioned it starting." She sighed. "I won't ever be able to shrug it off, will I?"

Charles shook his head, "I don't know. I wouldn't…" he paused, trying another tact. "Did you notice how he took control? Wouldn't let anybody else take care of you, he had to do it."

"I guess…" she turned back to the sink, taking the clip from her hair and letting it fall back down. "It just surprised me, that name in this house."

"He's a real man, not a spectre."

"I don't think that," she snapped. "I don't mean…"

"Just a suggestion," he rehung the towel on the radiator. "It's cold out tonight, do you mind if I let the cat in?"

"As if it doesn't already live here anyhow."

"Thanks," he made to leave.

"You know you ought to give it a name, if you're… if we're going to keep it. And perhaps put posters up in January, check nobody owns it."

He felt a smile tug at his lips, "Good idea. I'll work on the name business."

"Becky will help with that no doubt. She wants to take a bath in the big tub, I promised her I'd fill it with bubbles like they do in films. I'll sit with her; you okay with Dad?"

"Course. I'll pour us a drink, find something on the telly to watch."

"Thank you," she switched off the bathroom light and followed him into the bedroom. "A quiet night in with the family hey."

"And Elsie Hughes in pyjamas, revelation."

"Nice ones though, red, festive."

"Very nice," he pulled her to him. "Do try and relax."

She kissed him, looping her hands at the back of his neck.

"That was nice."

She smiled warmly; she really was terribly sorry for her mood, for being anxious and snapping. The thing was, she knew she was doing it, she could hear herself, yet somehow she couldn't stop it happening. "What time you collecting your mother tomorrow?"

"Four, gives us time to settle her before we have dinner tomorrow night."

"Okay, well the service is at three, so we'll likely be home at a similar time. What are we eating, do you need me to do anything?"

"No, fish pie, I'll prepare it tomorrow then it'll be simple oven job."

"And what will we do with them all?" She frowned. "Odd isn't it, our house being full of people. All these people."

"It's nice. And we'll do what all families do at Christmas – play board games, eat too many After Eights. Argue over whose turn it is to make the tea."

"My life used to be so very exciting."

He pinched her bottom, "This is exciting."

"Better than exciting," she kissed him again. "Much better."

* * *

After checking the temperature in the tub was fine, Elsie dried her right arm on a towel and stood back watching as her little sister sank down beneath the water then re-emerged, giggling and spluttering.

"That okay for you?"

"I love it!" Becky said. "Is your hand fixed now?" She asked, blowing bubbles from her arm and towards Elsie's face.

"It feels a bit better. Do you like it in there?"

"It's like a boat." She flopped back, "I can stretch right out, my legs right up there," she stuck her toe up out of the water. "Does Carson go in this bath, Elsie?"

"Sometimes, not very often."

"Oh. Does he smell then?"

Elsie laughed, "No he likes the shower sweetheart."

"That one there?" She pointed to the cubicle at the other side of the room.

"There's one in our room, the bathroom we share."

"Is it nice?"

"The shower?"

"No, sharing your house with him?" She turned over, sending bubbles over the edge of the tub.

Elsie smiled as she sank into the chair at the side of the room – she doubted anyone had ever sat in this chair, it was purely decorative. "Yes, it is. Like a sleepover, like when you have your friends for a sleepover and its fun."

"We're having a sleepover here with you."

"You are, it's nice isn't it?"

"I like it a lot, my room is really nice. Daddy says I need to remember to say thank you for things but I might forget so if I say thank you to you now for all my things that's okay, isn't it?"

"Of course it is." She smiled again. "And you don't have to thank me, you're my sister and I love you very much."

"Like Mr Carson?"

She bit her lip, "Kind of."

"I thought," Becky sniggered, sitting up in the bath. "That you had to be married to live in the same house like you and Carson."

"Not always. Some people are; things change."

"Don't you want to be married to him?"

"Maybe," Elsie said gently. "One day."

"I hope so. Then I can have a great big pink dress with a crown."

"A crown?"

"A princess crown, like when we were little, remember? At the birthday party?"

"Goodness, I'd forgotten that." Elsie laughed, "I had forgotten that. Your sixth birthday, you wanted everyone to be princesses."

"We had a pink cake too, a castle."

"I remember," Elsie got to her feet; she remembered being embarrassed at the time, because she was fifteen and her baby sister made her wear a flowing dress like a child. "And we danced outside at night time because you have a summer birthday," she placed her hand on Becky's head, "you're a beautiful summer girl and we danced under the stars."

"Mummy said the stars all came out for me."

"She was right. Do you want me to wash your hair for you, like Mum did?"

"I'd like it," Becky dropped back in the water again. "You've got lots and lots of bottles." She said, pointing up at the shelf adorned with Elsie's decorative collection.

"Oh they're just for show mainly, most are empty."

"I like all those smelly ones, and perfume too, I love it when you get it in a fancy box with that creamy perfume too."

"Well we'll have to see what Santa brings, won't we. Now sit up, let's do your hair then we'll go watch television with Dad and Car… Charles, and I'll make you hot chocolate."

"With marshmallows?"

"Of course. Wouldn't be right without it."

* * *

"Making some racket up there," Doug commented, looking up at the ceiling. "Bet she's getting water everywhere."

Charles shut the drinks cabinet, carrying over a large measure of whisky. "Here, I believe you'll know it well."

Doug took a sip, and Charles sat beside him on the sofa. "Local stuff. Our Elsie get it for you, did she?"

"For my birthday."

"Good choice." He lifted his feet up onto the coffee table then remembered himself and put them down again. "You settled in here then, with her?"

"Yes. I mean we have our moments, you don't go from being a lifelong singleton to living together without some disagreements. She can't organise the fridge logically for a start," he chuckled, got to his feet and fetched the footstool for Douglas to rest his legs on. "Better?"

"Much, thanks." Doug stared at the television, taking another drink.

"The bedroom okay for you?"

"Yeah, thanks. Your office?"

"Kind of. Not that I've done much of work late."

"What's with the bear?"

"Sorry?"

"The teddy bear," Douglas said, glancing to his face. "You don't strike me as the teddy bear kind of man."

Charles smirked, looking to his drink, "It was a joke. Another birthday thing. I was going away and she thought… well, she gave me the bear to remind me of her whilst away."

"Like you could easily forget."

"Quite," Charles knocked back his drink. "Called it Hughes," he said, turning the glass around in the palm of his hand. "Flew all the way to Spain with me." He remembered fondly.

"Bet she liked that." Douglas finished his drink and handed the glass back to Charles.

"Another?"

"Sure," Douglas yawned, it wasn't that late but he wasn't a young man after all and he'd had a day of travelling and weeks of adjusting to a new home, a new way of life. "Messed her up, that bastard." He suddenly said. "And I was sorry…" he gritted his teeth. "She never realised how much it took for me not to knock his teeth down his throat."

Charles screwed the lid back on the bottle as he listened.

"I thought she left because of him, took me years to realise she left because of me. Because of who she was there. What I made her be."

"I don't think she thinks that."

"She was stifled. And look at all this," he took the glass from Charles' hand. "Look at what she's done without us."

Charles retook his seat, plonking his feet on the coffee table, despite the fact he knew Elsie would hate it. He stared at his toes, there was yet another hole over his big toe and he wiggled it – he had no idea how he managed it, one every other day. "She's been very lonely," he said. "She wouldn't admit that. And it really doesn't matter what she's achieved at work, she seeks your approval." He took a drink, feeling his eyes haze over with the effect of it. "Your forgiveness."

"She doesn't need me to forgive her anything."

"Perhaps she needs to know that."

Douglas sat forward, glancing up at the many pictures Elsie had lining the cabinet in there – he spotted himself, the younger him, in a few of them. But the ones at the front were all of Charles, of the two of them together.

"She's different with you," he stated; fact, not suggestion. "Different. Softer."

"I think that's a good thing."

"Course," he stretched his body, feeling his muscles creak as he got to his feet. "Feel rusty after the train. Think I'll take a shower, if you don't mind."

"Help yourself, she showed you where everything was."

"She did." Douglas' steps were lurching as he crossed the lounge, taking a closer look to the photographs as he passed them. "She's found intimacy, not just sex. Bout bleedin' time too."

Charles reflected on that when he was alone – intimacy, odd idea really. Great idea in theory, bit more challenging in the execution. Sharing a house, a home, a life. They squabbled more now than they did when just dating, over silly things, inconsequential matters when he actually thought about it. Yet when they were deep in the midst of an all-out argument over whose fault it was that the milk was out of date or why the post box hadn't been emptied and the mail was wet, there seemed little room for rational thought.

"Do you two want hot chocolate then?" Elsie said, coming into the lounge. "Where's Dad?"

"Gone for a shower, think he's tired actually."

"I forget his age at times. He still seems so… so damned tough," she chuckled, plumping the pillow her father had been leaning on, and grudgingly noted the cat asleep on the other sofa. "Feet on the coffee table?"

"I'm old too."

"Maybe," she leant over him, ruffling his hair, "my old man though." She kissed his head, "I'll go make the hot chocolate, and I know, extra cream on yours."

"You do realise that's got a double meaning, don't you?" He called after her.

"Extra cream?" She queried, leaving the room.

"Being your old man," Charles said to himself.

* * *

 _More Christmas to come - please let me know what you think, it's much appreciated! xx R_


	31. Chapter 31

_**Took an age to write this chapter!**_

* * *

 **Chapter 31**

 **Christmas Eve**

The sun was shining. He could feel it on his neck; golden warmth, fluid liquidity, it made him hum in pleasure, groan into his pillow as he turned and sank into the welcome of the bed. He didn't want to wake just yet.

He was drifting, eyes closed, muscles still and settled, moulded into the soft mattress. And yet he wondered at the time, began to flit through the running of the day as his mind became alert.

He turned onto his side, reaching out an arm, fingers flexing upon the soft, silky flesh of Elsie. A smile began. Her warmth, her breath, her mouth on his neck, lips moving upward and kissing his chin. Slender fingers over his arm, sliding back and forth. His knee butted up against her thigh and he heard her smile, felt her roll her leg over his so they were pressed together, as close as could be.

"Merry Christmas Eve," she whispered, her mouth moving from his chin to his face, her fingers sliding into his hair, holding him.

"My," he breathed, eyes still closed as he rolled onto his back, "I like this."

She smirked, moving with him, her body easily balancing on his. He shuffled a little and she made a noise in her throat to complain.

"Cold feet," he said, opening his eyes, reaching a hand up to brush her hair back from her face. "Merry Christmas Eve."

Charles was a large man; he took up a fair amount of room in their bed. His feet sometimes hung just over the bottom – when they were in hotels he lay with his knees bent, which she knew affected his back, and in their bed he often ended up with cold toes.

"We'll get a new bed," she stated.

"Will we?"

"In January, well in the sales. A bigger bed, so your toes are warm."

He glanced around, "Will it fit?"

"We'll make it, new decoration, new layout. What do you think?"

He folded his hands at the base of her spine, "I think that sounds wonderful."

"I was foolish not to think of the bed before."

"No, you've done plenty to make me feel welcome."

She felt him move beneath her, his pelvis pushing slightly upward to hers.

"Ah, now stop that," she insisted, "I have to get up and make breakfast. My father will've been awake since about five."

"Sweetheart," he brought his mouth up to hers, kissing her deeply.

"As nice as that is," she whispered, tapping her finger against his nose, "No fun and games over the festive period. Your rules, remember?"

He smiled, "I do."

"When they're gone we'll buy a new bed and spend an entire day in it."

"Keeping our toes warm," he laughed.

"Well, finding lots of warm places…"

"Elsie," he shook his head but was chuckling as he did it.

She kissed him again, "Besides, wrong time of the month. Which is pretty lucky on my part, really, for it to fall on this date."

"Not sure that's lucky."

"Can't be helped. Go have a shower; food will be ready when you come down."

* * *

Elsie turned the heating up when she got downstairs; the sun was out but it was chilly, a crisp December morning. She opened the doors in the kitchen and for a moment stood breathing in the air, filling her lungs. Her father's coat was gone from the hall and she presumed he was out walking; it was something of a challenge for a man who'd lived his life outdoors to be cooped up all day.

She filled the kettle, warmed the tea pot and took the things she'd need from the fridge – Charles was so well organised everything in there was placed with military position.

Becky came down as she was putting the bacon on, she hung back by the kitchen door.

"Elsie?" She whispered.

"Well, good morning. Did you sleep okay?"

"Yes, I did. The sheets smell nice, like flowers."

Elsie smiled to herself – the fragrance was Charles' doing, "What are you standing there for?"

"Is it okay to come in?"

"Of course it is. Why wouldn't it be?"

"I'm still in my pyjamas."

"That's alright, you do what you do at home. I want you to feel comfortable honey, like this is your home, a second home."

She came in, watching as Elsie spooned leaves into the tea pot.

"What's that?"

"Tea leaves, just like tea bags but without the bag. And why are you whispering?" She laughed.

"I don't want to be a distur…" she thought about it, "disturbance."

"Ah. Did Dad say that?"

"Yep. I can be noisy and Carson might be asleep and this is his home too so I need to mind my manners and not cause trouble."

Elsie patted her shoulder, "You aren't, and he's awake, he'll be down for breakfast in a minute." She kissed Becky's forehead, "Happy Christmas Eve."

"Yes it is!" She spontaneously hugged her sister. "Happy Christmas Eve Elsie."

"Oh that was nice," she pressed her chin to her sister's shoulder, holding her tight. It was many, many years since they'd been together at this time of year and she felt her throat tighten at the thought of that. "You're alright though darling, here, you are happy?"

"Yes. I like coming to your house."

"Good," she rubbed her back, "I've missed you."

"You saw me the other week," Becky laughed, pulling herself from the hug.

"So I did," it wasn't quite what Elsie meant, but she let it go. "Do you want orange juice as well as tea?"

"Yes please."

"Go sit down then and I'll do it."

"What are you making anyhow?" Charles asked, pulling out a seat at the breakfast table and sitting down. "Good morning Becky."

"Morning Carson; your hair is wet."

"It is, I've just had a shower."

"Can I have one?"

"After breakfast," Elsie said. "Go sit down, you can sit anywhere." When Becky had chosen the seat beside Charles, Elsie put the teapot down and their cups in front of them. "We're having breakfast cobs," she told Charles. "Do you remember, Becks?"

"Mummy used to make them."

"She did. She'd pack them up for us when it was lambing season and we'd all head out to work in the early hours and have them later. Somehow she wrapped them so well they stayed warm."

"That's a nice memory."

"The sandwiches were nice, the job not so much. Bloody freezing!"

"Elsie!" Becky laughed, "You swore."

"Sorry. Don't tell Santa."

Becky rolled her eyes, "He already knows. He knows everything."

"Never a truer word spoken," Charles rustled his newspaper as he opened it. "What's on this sandwich?"

"Bacon, egg, mushroom, tomatoes."

"Impressive, and with one hand." He noted her bandaged one. "My kind of sandwich. Some HP on mine please chef." He teased.

"I want tomato sauce and runny egg," Becky said, pouring herself more orange juice. "Can we watch television Carson?"

"At the breakfast table," he mock scolded, but turned it on for her, showing her how to use the remote.

"It's Mr Wonka, I like this one," Becky said, looking up to the television.

"Me too," Elsie agreed, turning the bacon with her good hand. "Let's hope Dad gets back soon, else we'll have to keep his warm."

"Do you like Mr Wonka too, Carson? Will you sing the songs?" She turned up the volume before Charles could even reply. "I'd love to go there. Elsie, can we go there, will you take me?"

Elsie turned to look at the screen and smiled, " _Hold your breath. Make a wish. Count to three_." She recited. "If it existed, then I'd take you."

"Isn't it real?"

Elsie carried their breakfast over, kissing the side of Becky's head, "In your imagination."

She sang along to the song as she made another pot of tea and watched the two much-loved people eating breakfast at her table. " _If you want to view paradise, simply look around and view it…"_ She sang along with the film.

"Well, this is a quaint scene," Douglas said, startling her before she even knew he was there.

"Daddy, where have you been?" Becky rushed to him, hugging him tight, "I thought you'd left me."

"What's this nonsense now? I went for a walk, as I do in the morning. Now, sit back down, eat up, it smells good."

"Yours is ready," Elsie said, she hadn't even noticed Becky was anxious about that. "You want it?"

"Just get my boots off. Nice area you got, I went down the back, over the field." Douglas stated.

"You climbed the garden fence?"

"Didn't have to; there's a gap in the neighbours' one, they need to get it fixed with winter coming."

Elsie rolled her eyes but couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in her father's agility at his age. Still, he wasn't getting any younger – the night before he'd been exhausted from the travelling, and Becky's fear of being left by him worried her. One day, he would be gone, and then what? Could Elsie look after her? Would Becky even want her to? She'd adjusted to moving from the farmhouse better than they thought she might, but perhaps that was due to her father's presence. Would she be able to permanently relocate to England and leave Scotland behind?

"Watch your bacon," Charles whispered by her ear, putting his plate in the sink.

"Oh god," she pulled out the grill.

"I'll make more tea; you go sit down with them and eat."

"Ah look Elsie, it's the green men, the Oompas."

"So it is sweetheart, the Oompa Loompas." She sat next to her, touching her arm. "Eat your sandwich, don't want you hungry. We've got a busy day."

"We're going to church, aren't we?"

"We are. And you'll get to meet some of my friends. And then Charles' mum will be here later."

Becky stared at the television screen, chewing her bottom lip in an all too familiar gesture.

"What's bothering you?" Elsie asked. "What's wrong?"

"Maybe they won't want to meet me. Maybe I should stay here and watch some more films."

"You can watch films, you can watch them all morning, I don't mind that. Plenty of Christmas films on for you. But they do want to meet you, of course they do because you're wonderful. And I'll be there. But you don't have to if you don't want."

"Maybe you'll just give it a try, hey Becky. How about that? You have a think about it and give it a try," Douglas said. "Great sandwich, set me up for the day." He said to his other, rather surprised, daughter.

* * *

Becky had indeed spent the day on the sofa watching movies and working her way through the tin of Heroes – _perfect Christmas_ , Charles had commented. He was jealous on some level; he'd spent most of his morning responding to frantic calls from Thomas before rushing out to work for a few hours. He'd loathed to go but Elsie insisted all was fine and so, reluctantly, he went.

Elsie had cleaned the house; Douglas had skulked about it trying to find something to do. In the end he'd gone out to the garden and raked up the dead leaves, pruned some of the overhanging trees. Elsie put up a slight protest but in the end left him to it; it was in his nature to work, just as it was hers.

Charles got back as she was getting ready to go out, he laid on the bed watching her lift her hair up and twirl it around, clipping it back from her face and then applying makeup.

"My feet hurt," he said, rubbing her toes together. "I ended up rushing back and forth carrying trays."

"Rather beneath you, isn't it?"

He frowned, "Miscalculation on Thomas' part, happened to us all I guess. Or maybe I overlooked something."

Elsie flicked on mascara, watching him in the mirror, "Do you think you did?"

"Don't know, rather bothered me though, it shouldn't, I know that."

She turned to face him, "But it did."

"Yeah. Something interesting happened though."

"Oh?" She held up two jumpers, "White or red?"

"Red. No, white, for a change. Anyhow, one of the guests came to see me after the event, asked how I felt about working with him."

"In what capacity?" She fastened her jeans, tucked in the vest top and shrugged the woolly jumper on over the top.

"He works at a college, something like that. Wants me to offer a course, or contribute to one."

"On butlering?" She smiled.

He couldn't help but grin, "Yes. That."

"Will you offer tips on Carsoning too?"

"Stop teasing," he turned onto his side, "you look good."

"I'm sorry, it sounds good, interesting. Always good to do something new isn't it? Challenge yourself?"

"I guess, but I…"

There was a tiny tap on the door and immediately Charles sat up, dropping his feet to the floor; his demeanour altering.

"Come in," Elsie said, biting her bottom lip.

The door eased open and Becky popped her head around, "Elsie?"

"Yes, come in. Are you alright?"

"This is your bedroom," Becky stated, slowly coming into the room, her eyes fixed on Charles on the bed.

"It is, you can come in."

At the sound of her sister's voice, her eyes turned to Elsie. "You look nice."

"Thank you darling."

"I don't know what to wear for this… for this church."

"Are you going to come with me?"

Becky shrugged, moving more confidently around the room now, her eyes taking in every detail as she got to Elsie's dressing table and reached to touch the jewellery laid out, the perfume bottle, the photo of her and Elsie as children.

"This is we, you and me."

"Yes, that's us, when we were little." Elsie moved closer to her; her hair had been tied up all day and, after hours laying on the sofa, now hung haphazardly from her bobble. "Would you like to sit down and I'll do your hair?"

"Can you do it nice like when you took me to that hair place?"

"I can try."

Charles got to his feet, "I'll go make a start on the pie for dinner, leave you two to it."

"Bye Carson," Becky said, looking at him in the mirror as Elsie had earlier. "Don't make lumpy potatoes."

"I'll try my very best for you," he saluted her before leaving the room.

"Elsie…?" Becky said once they were alone.

"Mm?"

"You have red sheets with reindeer on."

Elsie laughed, "Yes, we do. Festive bedding."

"I like it."

"Me too. I only bought them the other day, I spotted them when I was getting my last few presents." She pressed a hand to the top of Becky's head, "Sorry if this hurts a little," she said, pulling the brush through the tangled hair. "Would you like to wear something of mine for church, would that make you feel better?"

"Something like you're wearing?"

"Well, maybe not exactly the same," she smiled. "Tell you what, you look in the wardrobe whilst I get the straighteners heating."

She tilted her head back, looking up at Elsie. "Are you going to make my hair straight?"

Her eyes were wide and Elsie felt her heart pull when she looked at her; she was younger by quite some margin yet somehow looked older than her sister, her skin creased and coloured by the harshness of outdoor work, the dry wind, the biting cold. The constant querying frown had left her forehead lined; Elsie ran her index finger down the side of her sister's face before planting a kiss on her head.

"Go look, find something and then we can do your hair how you want, straight or curly."

* * *

"How is it?" Beryl whispered, her hand pressing against Elsie's back. "How's it going?"

"Alright I think," she whispered in return. "But then, it's only been a day." She dropped coins into the plate and picked up two Orders of Service, glancing back outside to where Becky knelt patting a puppy. "She's nervous, so don't take offence if she doesn't speak."

"I won't. Surprised Charles didn't join you."

"Two reasons really; one he's picking his mother up at 16:00. Two, my father didn't want to come to this so he said he'd stay with him."

"Not a churchgoer?"

"I think he fell out with God over the years – Becky, when she was born… and when mum died."

Beryl nodded, leaning against the wall beside Elsie and watching as her sister joyfully held the puppy outside, giggling as it licked her face. Elsie grimaced, rubbing a hand over her stomach.

"You're not well?"

She rolled her eyes, leaning in a little closer to her friend and whispering, "Bleeding heavily today. It's been erratic. They don't tell you it gets heavier before it stops completely."

"There's plenty nobody tells you. Crappy time to get it."

"Tell me about it. I was dead snappy with Charles yesterday. Least we're on a no sex ban over Christmas."

Beryl smirked.

"Can you get struck down – discussing periods and sex in church?"

"It's where we all come from," Beryl said. "What about the hand?"

"Oh, cut it yesterday, broke a mug." She glanced at it, "Clumsy," she whispered.

"Look, here she comes."

"Sorry I'm late," Isobel said as she hurried into the entrance, leaning in to kiss them both. "Merry Christmas favourite ladies."

"Merry Christmas sweetheart," Elsie kissed her cheek. "You're looking gorgeous. Great scarf."

"I feel wonderful, nice relaxing morning so far. The scarf was an early present from Richard."

"That's not the only present he gave you this morning going by the glint in your eye," Beryl teased.

Isobel hardly reacted, "Shut up. Something to be said for having Christmas with rich people; I haven't had to do a thing for tomorrow. We've just got to turn up"

"Lucky you," Beryl complained, "I'm glad to come here just to get out of the house."

"And to honour our tradition, of course," Isobel smiled, hooking an arm around both of her friends. "We best get seats."

"Becky," Elsie called and Isobel was surprised when the woman outside looked up; when Elsie hadn't immediately introduced anyone she figured she'd come alone. "Come on now, we need to get a seat, say goodbye to the puppy."

Becky nodded, patting the dog's head and planting a kiss on its ear.

"Goodness, she looks remarkably like you," Isobel observed.

"I said the same," Beryl agreed.

"Becky, come on now," Elsie said again, holding her hand out and moving away from Isobel's embrace to beckon her sister inside. "You'll be frozen sitting out there."

"Will the puppy freeze too?" Becky asked, taking hold of Elsie's outstretched hand. "What if he does?"

"He won't, he's fine." She rubbed her sister's fingers, "We'll go get a seat. Becky this is my other friend Izzy."

"Hi," Becky said shyly.

"Hello, very nice to meet you." Isobel slipped her glove off and held her hand out.

"Very nice to meet you," Becky said; her accent was broader than Elsie's, which surprised Isobel too. "You're Izzy, I like that name. It sounds funny."

"I like Becky, and doesn't your hair look beautiful."

"Elsie did it for me, and this is her top, and did you see that there puppy, he's a right daft laddie."

"Alright," Elsie smiled, slipping an arm around her as she sensed her growing excitement. "Let's go find a seat so we can actually see the nativity taking place."

"Baby Jesus doesn't go in now Izzy," Becky pointed out once they were sat. "It's not til tonight when Mary gave birth to him. Do you know that?"

"I think she's taken a soft spot for Iz," Beryl whispered by Elsie's ear; Beryl was at one end of the pew, Elsie and Becky in the middle, Izzy the opposite side. "I feel rather left out."

"Be glad of the peace and quiet." She opened the order of service and briefly thought of Charles as she glanced at her watch – wondering how his mother and her father would get on. That was one she couldn't predict. She frowned as a sharp pull shot through her lower belly and stretched out her legs to try and ease the tightness.

"When are we singing Elsie?" Becky asked, leaning against her arm. "Is it now?"

"In a moment, we'll listen to him speak first." She felt Becky thread her fingers around Elsie's elbow, pushing her hand through and then hooking her arm around hers. She smiled as the younger woman rested her chin on her shoulder. "You alright there?"

"A-ha. I like it here. It's a big church but it's warm, the one at home is cold."

"I remember. You go with Aunt Jan."

Becky looked up quickly, "Do you think she'll be lonely without me?"

"Aunt Jan has five children, Becks, she won't be lonely."

"Do you have children, Izzy?" Becky asked, pulling her arm from Elsie's and turning in the pew.

"Just one. A son. But he's not a child now."

Becky leant forward, looking past Elsie to Beryl. "What about you, Beryl?"

"Three sweetheart, two boys and a girl."

"Oh. Elsie doesn't have any children and neither do I. But maybe she'll have a baby with Carson."

"Becky!" Elsie gasped as the others laughed.

"You might. I'd like you to have a baby. It could be called Carson two."

"Carson Junior?" Beryl suggested, earning herself a nudge in the ribs from Elsie.

"Yes! I like that. Or if it's a girl then like mum, mummy's name. But not til you get married because you can't have a baby without being married. And when you get married I get to have a princess dress and walk down this church, won't I Elsie?"

Elsie touched her hair, "It's starting now dear, get your booklet open, can you see the words okay?"

Becky shifted her glasses about on her nose, "I hope we sing Jingle Bells."

"If we don't we'll sing it in the car on the way home."

"You said we could have hot chocolate, like in Wonka."

Elsie shook her head, the girl never forgot a thing when it came to food and drink, "And we can."

"Will you come too Izzy?" She asked as the service started.

Isobel nodded and the four of them stood, Becky bending forward and cupping her hand around her mouth, "Will you come for hot chocolate too, Beryl?" She whispered exaggeratedly and Beryl nodded as the first hymn began.

"Whizpopper!"

Beryl and Elsie were still giggling halfway through _O Come All Ye Faithful_ ; Becky, oblivious to their smiles, sang her heart out.

* * *

Becky was animated in the car, delighted with her stylish hair and the borrowed outfit and her new found friends and the bag of presents Elsie had given her to take care of. She clung to it, eager to search for the one Isobel had assured her was in there with her name tag on.

They sang Christmas songs together and she bounced in the passenger seat.

"I love your car, Elsie."

"Thank you, I like it too."

"It's very clean, Daddy's always has dirt in it from off the fields. Sometimes cow poo!" She laughed. "I like it here al-to-gether." She proclaimed. "And I'm so excited for Santa."

"I can hardly tell," Elsie laughed, turning into her street. "I'm glad you're enjoying being here. You know you can come whenever you want," she turned the music off. "You're welcome to visit me whenever you want, to stay."

"With Daddy, on the train?"

"Well, with or without Daddy, he might not always be able to travel."

"I'll be too scared to get on the train on my own."

"You know I'd help," she pulled onto the drive. "But don't worry about it. It's not something to think about today."

"Tomorrow?"

"No. Not tomorrow neither. Not for a long time. Now, I need to tell you something."

"Yes?"

"Honey, you do realise that even if Charles and I do marry, I can't have babies now."

"Why not if you're married?"

She reached forward and pushed back an errant curl behind Becky's ear, "Because I'm too old."

"Don't you want to have Carson's baby?"

She bit her lip, suppressing a smile – hadn't she had this very discussion with the man himself some months ago? "I'm just too old darling. Now Charles' mother will be inside, and she's quite old and sometimes gets confused so I need you to just be careful around her."

Becky pressed her fingers to her lips, "I'll be quiet."

"You don't have to be quiet, just considerate. Do you…" she was about to say 'understand' and then she realised how condescending she sounded. "Are you hungry?"

"Yes. And Carson is making fish pie, he told me, and then we can watch another Christmas film, can't we?"

She unbuckled her seatbelt, "Perhaps, later tonight. We might play a game after dinner though, maybe cards or dominoes."

"I like those ones."

"I know, and who knows, perhaps Santa will have brought you a Christmas Eve present."

Elsie pushed open the door ahead of Becky, who rushed inside brandishing the bag of gifts as she followed the sound of conversation into the kitchen.

"Carson look!" She said, holding the bag aloft in the air and then pausing when she noticed him helping an elderly woman into a chair.

"One second Becky," Charles replied, helping his mother sit. When he turned to face her, Becky was chewing on her bottom lip frowning. "You have a good time then?" He asked.

She nodded silently, staring at the woman for a moment before marching forward and holding out her hand.

"I'm Rebecca Hughes. You can call me Becky," she announced.

The old woman looked out from under hooded eyes, a shaky hand resting upon a shaky knee, it took a few seconds before she lifted her fingers and, with a skeletal like grip, shook Becky's hand.

"Nice to meet you Rebecca. My name is Margaret."

"You're Carson's mother?"

"I am."

Becky tilted her head to one side, measuring up the woman. "You don't look much like Carson. He is very tall, like a giant."

Margaret smiled, "Like his father."

"Where's his father now?"

Elsie rested her hand on Becky's shoulder, "Enough questions for the moment sweetie," she whispered before leaning forward to kiss Margaret's cheek. "Merry Christmas."

"Ah Emily, I was wondering when you'd get here. Are we going now?" She shifted to get to her feet.

"No dear, we're staying here. Shall we have a cup of tea?"

"That'd be lovely," Margaret said, settling back in her chair.

"Who's Emily?" Becky asked, still standing in the middle of the kitchen holding the gift bag stuffed with presents.

"Why don't you put the presents under the tree in the lounge, Becky," Charles suggested, spooning tea into the pot.

"Good idea, and then you can help me set the table for dinner," Elsie said. "Where's Dad?"

"Was asleep in the lounge when I went to fetch mum," Charles said, leaning over to kiss her. "Hi, good time?"

Elsie stole a carrot from the chopping board, "Really good actually, surprisingly."

"Not surprisingly. Look at your smile."

Elsie grinned, feeling her cheeks stretch, "It was nice, having her there, having my oldest friends finally meet her. Surreal in a way. But very, very nice."

"How Christmas should be, perhaps."

She smiled again, kissing his cheek, "Do you need me to help do anything other than set the table?"

"No it's fine, pour the tea perhaps."

"I can manage that. I'll take Dad one, wake him up if Becky hasn't already. She wants chocolate milk."

"Didn't you go for hot chocolate before coming home?"

"Yes! It's watching Wonka this morning, she gets hooked on things. If it was Matilda she'd be concentrating on trying to move things with her mind."

"Emily," Margaret said, "I've stayed here before."

"You have Margaret, a couple of times now. You can have the same room too with your own bathroom. Here's your tea, two sugars."

"Perfect. Nothing better. What's for dinner?"

"Fish pie, mum."

"Can't stand it, what else?"

Elsie laughed as Charles turned exasperated to her, "You love fish."

"Do not."

"You do, you have fish and chips every Friday."

"That's not real fish."

"What the hell do you think's in it?" Charles laughed, returning to preparing dinner. He felt Elsie squeeze his elbow as she passed him and he mumbled to her, "Might be a long weekend."

"That's what Christmas is about," she teased before taking her Dad a cup of tea.

* * *

"Can I take my corset off now, the bones are really digging in?" Margaret asked, shifting in her chair.

"Mother!"

"Perhaps after dinner," Elsie said to appease her, patting the back of her hand. She glanced over to where Becky was sitting, oblivious to the conversation as she stirred her ice cream in her bowl. "Do you like it, Becks?"

"It's mint, I like chocolate mint."

"Me too," Charles said, putting his spoon down.

"Can I have more squirty cream, Carson?"

"You can have more of anything you want," Charles said getting to his feet; noticing the frown on Elsie's face he grinned, "It's Christmas, a time for self-indulgence."

"Then I think I'll have a bit more of my pipe, if none of you mind," Douglas said, also getting to his feet. "I'll smoke it outside mind," he nodded at Elsie.

"I'll make some coffee; we can play cards after."

"Dominoes?" Becky asked, "I like them more."

"Of course, I'll find them." She followed Charles into the kitchen, filling the kettle as he retrieved the cream from the stuffed fridge.

"Be better in there after tomorrow, might be able to see a little of what we've got."

"Those prawn things haven't tipped over, have they?" She asked, spooning coffee into the pot.

"Seem fine," he opened the fridge again anyway to check. "Fine."

"You think the turkey will really be alright in the garage?"

"Course, it's freezing in there. I went in tidying the other morning and nearly froze my… you know."

She laughed, leaning back against the counter, "Wouldn't want you losing your balls."

"Course not, do you want me to take in the cups?"

"I'll do it, I'll bring a tray, you best go give Miss Becky more squirty cream."

"Mmm," he leaned in to kiss her. "This is nice, isn't it?"

"Well, everyone's behaving at present." She rested her hands on his shoulders, "But yes, it's nice. Kinda worried about cooking Christmas dinner."

He sighed, "If it goes wrong then it goes wrong," he kissed her again, "but it won't. Have faith. I'll take this in."

"Okay. Do you know where the dominoes are?"

"Hall cupboard, spotted them the other day."

* * *

"What next, Elsie?" Becky whispered by her side, staring at the dominoes in the middle of the table. "Is it a four or a two?"

Elsie nodded, turning her own dominoes in her palm, "Can you go?"

"Yes. I think," she leant forward in her chair, placing her choice down, then turning its position on the table. "Now we can make it a square, see."

"Good idea," Elsie placed down her domino, "or we'll run out of room. Your turn Dad."

"Well, once again, none of you have paid attention," Douglas said, "because that's me done." He pulled the loose change from the centre of the table, "Mine I believe."

"Look at him raking it in!" Margaret exclaimed, reaching for the glass of wine Charles had poured her to have with dinner. "That's the Scots for you."

"Is it?" Douglas laughed, "I would have thought it was more the English."

"Are we going to have an argument over who's more of a penny pincher?" Charles set to reshuffling the dominoes. "Or play on?"

"Not too much longer," Elsie said, glancing to the clock. "There was something on at 9:00 you wanted to watch, wasn't there Margaret?"

The old woman yawned, leaning back in her chair. "What do you make of all this _out_ business, Emily?"

"Out?"

"Scotland wanting out."

"Mother, I'm not sure it's an appropriate Christmas Eve chat."

"No, no, let her speak." Douglas said, lining up his tiles. "What do you make of it?"

"Load of rubbish," Margaret said. "Ya'll change your mind when the campaigning dies down and you've run out of money. Then independence won't seem such a dream machine."

Elsie crossed her ankles, her eyes wide as she stared across at Charles. This could potentially go either way.

Douglas reached for his whisky, "You're proud to be English?"

"Damn right I am. We fought for the right."

"And I am proud to be Scottish. And we fought for that right too." He finished his drink, "But I am also British, I'll always be Scottish first, but I have daughter who is as much English as she is Scottish these days. Can't see her moving back – too quiet, and possibly missing someone…" he looked at Elsie. "Isn't that right?"

She smiled, despite the awkwardness. "Yes, that's right."

"Well, if Scotland left it'd be a different world, that's for sure." Margaret said.

"Where are we going to?" Becky asked, holding a domino ready to put down. "Are they going to move Scotland? What if we can't find it again? What if Elsie can't come and visit like before. I don't want not to see her for years and years again."

"They aren't moving it darling." Elsie said, "We'll be fine. Are you going to play?"

"I have the six."

"Go on then, last game. Then we'll put our pyjamas on."

"You know," Charles said, "It's a clear night, how about we have a walk. You'll be alright mum, won't you? Watching your show?"

"I'll stay," Douglas said, "watch it with her. You go."

"Becky?" Charles said, laying down his domino. "Fancy a midnight stroll in the woods?"

* * *

Becky stood back from the tree, slowly tilting her torch back and letting the light travel up the broad spine.

"Look how high," she said, craning her neck to follow the light up into the branches. "A million feet high." She twisted around, flashing her torch behind her. "Elsie?"

"We're right here," Charles shifted the light of his own torch to one side, away from Becky's face. He felt Elsie's arm around his and pulled her impossibly closer as they walked. "When we get out from the trees we'll be able to see the sky better," he said, "then we can look at the stars."

"Will we see Santa?"

"Not sure," he handed Elsie the torch and hooked his now free arm around Becky's so the three of them trampled over damp dead leaves together.

"When we get home we can use the internet and see him on the Santa tracker, find out where he is in the world," Elsie said.

"Can we really?" Becky asked excited.

"Yes, can we?" Charles seemed surprised by the very idea.

"Of course. And then a drink and bed I think, or he'll be here and we'll still be awake!"

"I think I'll go right to sleep tonight," Becky said. "I've had a busy day, haven't I Elsie? We've done lots and I'm stuffed up on Carson's pie."

"I think it was more likely all that cream," Elsie laughed. "Now careful here, there's a bit of a hill, don't want you slipping."

"Don't be silly," Becky said, "I've got my wellies on and I run down the hills all the time at home."

"Course you do," Elsie said gently, "I'd forgotten that."

"Bet I could run this one in the dark too and still not fall."

"If you hurt yourself –," Elsie started, then realised she heard her mother's voice and stopped herself. "Just be careful."

"I'm very."

"She'll be okay; give me your torch Becky, I'll light the route with them both."

"You encourage her childish behaviour," Elsie said to him as Becky set off.

"There's no reason not to, it's who she is, nothing to be ashamed of."

"I know," she folded her arms, watching as Becky ran down the slight hill and Charles stood with his arms raised lighting her way. "I like having her here."

"So do I, she makes you realise life is too short to be taken so seriously. And you're happy," he lowered the torches as Becky shouted from the bottom, "and so that means everything in the world is right."

"Thank you," she said softly, taking his arm again as they set off down to join her sister. "I'm happy you're happy, Mr Carson."

"See all the stars Elsie," Becky said, interrupting them, "do you think you can see Jesus' star?"

"Charles will know," Elsie said, tilting her head back to look up at the sky. "My it's clear, look how bright it is, you were right Becks." She turned around on her heels looking up, behind her she could hear Charles directing Becky's gaze, filling her head with information. The air was biting and crisp, so very light and pure, befitting of Christmas Eve. "I've lived here for over twenty years and never done this," she said.

"What darling?" Charles touched her arm.

"I was just thinking. I've been here all this time and never done this, I'm usually drunk by this point on Christmas Eve, at a party somewhere, with someone."

"This is better, yes?"

"Oh much. Much, much better." She leant in to kiss him. "You've made everything better."

* * *

 **Christmas Day**

Elsie had never considered herself a highly religious person. She went to church on certain occasions more because it was expected of her, but she suspected, in her darker times, that there was something, something more than earth and life and death.

She woke in the early hours of Christmas morning, no reason for it other than suddenly she was wide awake and alert. Laying on her back with Charles' arm slung over her rounded belly. She stretched her legs, felt the pang of tightness in her bladder, the swollen breasts, the constant feeling of heat suffusing her skin.

Groaning, she lifted his arm, slipped easily from the bed and into the bathroom. When she'd rinsed her face in cold water she tiptoed back out, barefooted on the thick carpet. It was after three and Charles slept deeply, warm and content. A year ago she'd been alone, waking at nine, a leisurely shower, a phone call to her father and then the drive to Beryl's. This year she had her own family, in her own home, a family that now seemed to have Charles at the centre of it.

Pulling on her dressing gown she silently left the bedroom and made her way down to the kitchen. Any day at this hour would be still, but there was something about this one in particular, something about creeping about in her own home because it was full of people sleeping soundly. She thought of how excited Becky was when she'd kissed her goodnight; of Margaret needing to be carried to bed she was that tired. Of her father's silence. She'd been surprised by his calmness at dinner, at the way he seemed to want to simply sit back and observe.

She made camomile tea and sat at the kitchen table, staring out in the darkness of the garden, inky blue, somehow welcoming.

"Does it snow?" somebody whispered and she turned her head sharply, shaken by the interruption. "Only me," her father said. "Is that tea?"

"Would you like some?"

"Smells kinda funny," he sat and she made him one anyway.

"It's relaxing, or meant to be, thought it might help me get back to sleep."

"Something bothering you?" he asked, fiddling with the teabag in the cup.

"I might ask you the same."

"I've kept the same hours for years, training myself to do different," he shrugged.

She forgot, or had forgotten, how much of a change he'd been through over the past few months. "Are you alright father?"

He allowed himself a smile at that, she hardly ever used 'father', not since childhood. "Well, I'm getting better," He took a sip of the tea and grimaced, "funny tasting too. She's happy, excited," he said, "I've got you to thank for that."

"Becky? Thank you."

"My worry is she'll find it difficult to settle when we go back, or that she'll expect this every year."

"And shouldn't she expect it every year? Can't she?"

"Is that what you want?"

She swallowed, her skin suddenly felt clammy and she was keenly aware of how tight her stomach felt, the sharpened pain in her womb. "Of course," she whispered, "I'm glad you're here, both of you. All four of you."

"Charles is a fine man."

"Yes."

"But you won't marry him."

Her heart jerked, "Sorry?"

"Something in you Elsie, something you can't help. You still doubt yourself, even after all this time, even now, here. You doubt who you are. You doubt whether you love him enough to make it work."

"I have no idea where you're getting this from but I can assure you…"

"I'm not saying this to be cruel."

"Oh – I'd hate to see you when you are."

"Elsie," he stretched to touch her hand. "I love you very much."

Her mouth felt dry, she licked her lips, her eyes tight. "I love you too, Daddy."

"Right then." He said solemnly, "So, listen to what I'm saying and prove me wrong."

"I don't know if you're saying this because you really mean it or because you're playing Devil's Advocate with me."

He smiled, patting her fingers with his and then drawing his hand back. "You think you can do this every year, be the host?"

She took a sip of her tea to give herself thinking time, "I think I'd like to try."

"For you or him?"

"Both," she said quickly. "Would you not like to come here every Christmas?"

"I might not be around for much longer –,"

"Dad!"

"I'm getting old, we both know that. I don't want to end up like Margaret, lovely as she is, she doesn't know what's going on."

"She knows if she feels happy and loved, I believe that."

"Perhaps," he shrugged. "But when I go, when I'm dead and gone, Becky might come here, I can see that now. But if you're full of doubt, if you don't think for a second this thing with him won't last, if you're going to go back to pretending work and one night stands are enough…"

She shook her head.

"Becky can't be a part of that."

She felt tears spill down her cheeks, "Why has it taken so long for us to get past it all?"

"Because we're as stubborn and proud as each other." He got up from his chair and tipped his tea down the sink. "You've been in England too long. You should drink single malt when you can't sleep, not this rubbish."

"I might not get up for work if I did." She rose too, and put her cup beside his in the sink. "Merry Christmas Dad," she said softly.

"Merry Christmas Elsie."

* * *

It was after four when she climbed back into bed beside Charles; her head spinning with her father's words, questioning his meaning. The feel of his arms around her as they'd hugged before both returned to their beds.

"Darling…" Charles whispered, pressing a kiss to the back of her head, his hands on her body pulling her back against him, the feel of his arms around her replacing the memory of her father's. "You okay?"

"Mm, just needed a drink."

He kissed her head again, then her shoulder, "My love," he said and she closed her eyes, sinking into the familiar warmth of his embrace. "Merry Christmas," he whispered, a smile in his words, "isn't it nice to say that to each other first. Saying it to the person you love more than anyone in the world."

She kept her eyes closed, "Yes," she breathed, there was no way she'd take such a lovely thought away from him. "Yes, it is."

There was such love in the house, in her home; so many questions and misconceptions and possible issues too, but love, above all that. Two men had told her they loved her in the space of minutes – she had much to be thankful for.

* * *

Becky climbed the stairs, one sock hanging loose beneath her foot. She pushed back her hair, walked along the hall to the second to last door and stopped, standing tall as she lightly tapped her knuckles against the surface. When there was no response she knocked again only louder.

Frustrated at the lack of an answer, she reached down to the shiny silver handle and pushed open the door.

"Elsie…" she whispered, tiptoeing in. The bedroom seemed light, filled with white, and she smiled when she spotted her sister still asleep in bed. She stepped to the edge of it, ran her hand over the duvet cover; a festive cover Elsie had said. She pressed her hand against Elsie's leg, "Elsie," she said again, and then, with a mixture of excitement and hunger she climbed onto the bed, "Elsie!" she said loudly.

"I'm awake... trouble…" Elsie said, flopping onto her back. "How can I sleep through this noise?"

"We aren't being too noisy, are we?"

"No," Elsie squeezed her arm, "Merry Christmas sweetheart. Come here for a second." She held her arm up and Becky laid down with her.

"Merry Christmas, Elsie."

They stared at the ceiling together, Elsie's arm around Becky's shoulders, her chin resting on her sister's head. "Remember when we were little and waiting for Christmas, waiting for Dad to come in from the milking so we could open the presents."

"Yes. And mum made sausages."

"She did, trust you to remember the food."

"Carson is making sausages too, and he said he chose them specially from the butcher."

Elsie smiled, "Of course he did. Nothing has been overlooked." She thought of him the night before carefully carrying down the presents and laying them beneath the tree when everyone else had gone to bed. She doubted she'd ever seen someone so excited about Christmas, certainly it never existed like this in her own childhood home. Though they tried.

"Shall we get up then?" Elsie said, "I best get a quick shower and put some clothes on. Are you staying in your pyjamas today?"

"Can I?"

"Anything you want," she sat up, pushing back the bedsheets, "Ooh, I've got an idea. Let's listen to Christmas songs as I shower. How about that?"

"Good idea, but Carson says you need to be quick or the sausages will be burnt."

"Did he now? Well, it just so happens that I like them well done. And we have songs to sing," she fiddled with the iPod on her dressing table and watched Becky's face fill with delight as the music came from the speakers in the bathroom.

She caught hold of her hands and twirled her around, " _Come they told me_ ," Elsie prompted and Becky picked up on the chorus as the two of them danced and sang together.

* * *

"We almost ate without you," Charles said as the pair finally made it downstairs. "Be no point having breakfast soon, it'll be lunch."

"It's only just after nine," Elsie said, kissing his cheek, her hand on his chest. "And we were singing."

"So we heard." Douglas carried the tea pot to the table, filling Margaret's mug.

"Good morning Margaret," Elsie said, leaning to kiss her, "Did you sleep well?"

"Wonderfully thank you Elsie dear, just wonderfully, and we've had the radio on in here. I love Christmas songs."

"Me too," Becky was already sitting at the kitchen table, knife and fork in hand. "I've thought about the cat," she said, watching as it walked along the garden fence, hopped down and tapped its paw against the glass. "Hasn't he been cold all night out there on his own? It's Christmas Day."

Elsie shook her head at Charles' smug expression. She got up from her chair and let the cat in, feeling it shuffle its body up against her legs. "Yeah, yeah, I'm not the one who loves you."

"There's cat food in the cupboard under the sink," Charles said, settling down to his own breakfast.

"We can call him Munchkin," Becky said, buttering her toast.

"Are you sure he's a boy?" Elsie said, "He's looking kinda chunky."

"He's eating these days. Come on, sit down, let's eat."

"Where are the crackers?" Becky asked.

"Lunch time Becks," Douglas spooned sugar into his tea.

"I'd like a hat," she said, looking over to Charles. "I'd like Carson to wear a hat."

Elsie found the crackers and they pulled them then and there, sharing the rubbish jokes over breakfast and donning the cheap paper hats – though Becky made Charles swap his pink one for her gold. He would wear it all day, on her orders.

The dishes were piled into the dishwasher, Buckfizz poured and they gathered in the lounge to open presents before Becky imploded.

She opened the first gift, new wellingtons from Elsie, sparkly gold ones with bows on the side which she insisted on wearing immediately over her pyjama bottoms.

"I have something for you," Douglas said, pressing his hand on the arm of the couch as he got to his feet. He carried over a large flat package from behind the sofa and set it on the floor in front of Elsie.

"Oh, this is large Dad."

"Well, hope you like it."

He returned to his seat and she nervously pulled off the paper, taken aback by the contents. She looked up at him, wide-eyed, red-faced with surprise. "Dad…"

"Do you like it Elsie? We thought you'd like it," Becky whispered, kneeling on the rug in front of the fire beside the cat.

"It's beautiful," she tore the rest of the paper off and turned the picture around. "It's the one we had in the hall."

"I got it cleaned for you, reframed, something a bit more modern for your home," Douglas said, suddenly wishing he had something stronger than orange juice and fizzy wine.

"It's perfect."

"Who is it?" Margaret asked, turning over in her hands the embroidered cushion she'd just unwrapped.

"It's us, well, Becky and I." Elsie said, "With our mother."

"It'll go somewhere nice," Becky said, stroking the cat. "Won't it Munchkin."

"Not sure about the name Becks," Charles said, one hand pressed against Elsie's back. "It's not very manly."

"Unlike Carson," Elsie said, leaning in to him.

"Can I have another present now?" Becky asked.

"Yes, of course," Elsie got to her feet, moving the picture somewhere safe. "And one for Charles too." She handed him a long, thin package, "Kind of a joke one dear."

He waggled his eyebrows at her, unpeeling the wrapping paper. "A back scratcher!" He laughed. "A modern back scratcher no less."

"You can't expect me to always do it," she teased. "Here's your real gift, darling," she kissed his mouth as she handed the box to him. "Hope it's useful."

"What is it Carson?" Becky asked, wrapping her new scarf around her neck.

"Wow, it's a night camera."

"What's that mean?"

"You put it out to film the wildlife, like badgers and… this is great Elsie. Thank you."

"You're very welcome, thought it could be your first garden project in your new garden."

He pulled her onto his knee and kissed her properly. "A very good idea."

* * *

Late in the afternoon, whilst Margaret and Douglas slept, one on either couch, and Becky lay in front of the fire wrapped in a blanket and watching the afternoon movie, Charles and Elsie did the dishes.

"The light's already fading," she said, rinsing the champagne glasses. "The day is halfway over."

"But it's been a good one, and think of it this way, there's still half to go."

"Very true." She turned to watch him stacking the Christmas plates back in their box, carefully wrapping each one in paper. "You look good in that cardigan."

"Somebody gorgeous chose it for me."

"Via Santa of course," she took the rest of the glasses from the side and placed them gently in the bowl of warm water. "And the turkey turned out great. We make quite the pair."

"That I already knew. Formidable."

She smiled, looking out to the garden. "I want to ring Tom later, see how his Christmas has gone."

"Yes, I spoke to Robert this morning, he said he heard from him yesterday, he's planning to be back early January."

"I bet that pleased them."

"They're relieved I think." He folded over the top of the box. "Odd year Elsie. Messy at times, painful, surprising."

"Do you still feel guilty?"

"For being happy?" He shrugged, "Maybe a little, sometimes." Moving over to her he gently rested his hands on her hips, feeling the warmth of her, the slight movement as she washed the glasses and stood them on the drainer to dry. "So, I wanted to give you something?" He whispered, almost afraid of his own voice. He'd practiced this so many times in his head, now his brain seemed to be asleep and there was a fuzz of noise in his ears.

"Oh?" She rinsed her hands, reached for the towel. "That sounds suggestive."

He kissed her cheek, breathed in her scent. "It's a gift."

"Charles, you gave me so many this morning. I love my boots," she turned in his arms, lifting hers up to loop over his shoulders. "And the pen and the books and the perfume…"

"This is different."

"Mm, how?" She nudged his nose with hers until he kissed her. Then she felt one hand leave the small of her back, trail over her hip until he was fiddling in his trouser pocket.

"I debated when to give it you, you see it's different, not a gift to give publically."

"You said that," she was suddenly nervous, glancing to the small box enclosed in the palm of his hand.

"I'd like to say it's a family heirloom or something, but it's not, I got it new. But it _is_ yours, you see. I saw it, a month or so ago, and I knew it was yours and you had to have it. But the thing is," he opened the box, "it's up to you where you wear it. I'm not pushing you for anything, this could just be a commitment ring if you like, you can wear it on the other hand. You already know I want to marry you, that I love you. But I'm not proposing now, because I don't think you want it yet…"

She bit hard on her lip, feeling a little like her chest was going to explode. Her father's words from the night before raced through her mind and her skin was both flushed and covered in goose bumps simultaneously; there was a shiver down her spine as he took the extravagant ring from its box and lifted her right hand.

"Fits okay, see. And looks perfect, I knew it would. It's yours Elsie," he said firmly, holding her hand tight in his and looking her in the eye. "And when you're ready, we'll see."

"Charles –,"

"Don't tell me it's too much, or too expensive. I want you to have it. Pretend it came from a fairground machine. One of those plastic egg things."

"Clearly it didn't," she smiled, trembling with nerves, and something beyond that, some kind of bitter sweet feeling in her stomach. A sadness for him. He wanted this so badly, what if she let him down? What if she couldn't, after all, do any of this? The thought scared her, though she was unsure which scared her more – marriage or losing him.

She hugged him instead of finding words. Holding him tight enough so that he knew she cared, pressing her face into his shoulder.

"I love you too," she said, muffled words against his shirt.

"I know," he kissed her head. "Shall we go watch the movie with Becky and prepare ourselves for the afternoon onslaught of old people snoring in chairs?"

"A-ha," she nodded, pressing her hands to her red cheeks as he pulled away, turned from her and filled the kettle.

"I'll make more tea," he said.

"Alright, I just need the loo."

"You feeling any better today?"

"A little, yes. Won't be a second."

In the downstairs bathroom, she stared at her hand and the ring stared right back.

The small room seemed to be closing in on her and the weight of the diamond against her skin seemed unfathomably heavy. She'd need more than tea; she needed to get started on another bottle of wine right now and hope to be asleep before six o'clock. For Charles to carry her to bed and her not have to deal with this today.

In a flurry of movement, she pulled the ring from her finger and pushed it into her trouser pocket. If the others saw it they'd question its relevance, its place and position.

"Elsie!" Becky suddenly shouted and the tone in her sister's voice scared her. She rushed out into the hall, catching hold of Becky's hands, trying to steady her as she blurted out. "Munchkin's having babies in one of the Christmas boxes!"

* * *

 ** _Well, I certainly hope it was worth the wait. xx R_**


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32**

 **New Year's Eve (** _ **ha ha ha**_ **)**

Charles fiddled with the cuffs on his shirt, staring at himself in the mirror and debating again on whether or not he should bother with a tie. The thought made him laugh; last year's invitation had requested, 'smart casual', which he'd complained about. This year it was 'smart black and white' and he still found reason to complain.

He could still recall his feelings from the previous year. He remembered the frost that night, he remembered taking a slow walk from his solitary flat to Robert's impressive three-storey house reflecting on the failures of his life. He thought about the fact he was still single, that he still hadn't found a permanent home, that he'd not travelled or lost weight or cut back on his work load.

How life could alter in just twelve months. In so many ways. It wouldn't be the same not seeing in the New Year at The Crawley's, not having Sybil around, but he was glad the family would be at Isobel's and thank God for her taking over hosting duties.

"You look like James Bond," Elsie said as she came into their bedroom.

"More like James Bond's Dad," he turned to look at her. "You look gorgeous though, great dress."

"Not too dull? I don't usually look very interesting in black."

"You look like a goddess, as usual, I'm really loving this long hair." He stopped her passing by him, holding her waist. "Remember when I met you your hair was much shorter and sleeker."

"I really couldn't be particularly arsed to make an effort that night. Dragged along to some posh folks' party."

"Aren't you glad you did now though?"

She smirked, "I wore jeans and a shirt."

"Smart casual. You had a purple bra on, and heels that made you topple as you walked."

"I'm not quite the same tart you met that night."

"I'd never think that," he held her to him, kissing her deeply. "You do realise we shouldn't be going out at all, we're finally alone."

"I know. I kinda felt bad they took the train this morning but Dad wanted to be back for Aunt Jan's lunch tomorrow."

"We had a good run, no real fall outs."

"No. I was worried about your mother and my father."

"Yeah, I think the fact mum only stayed a few days eased us out of that one."

"I want to dance tonight and have fun," she said, opening the top three buttons on his shirt. "There, don't wear a tie, it looks sexy."

"Can I be possibly be sexy?"

"Of course. And I want you to dance with me and get drunk together and have fun. Alright? Then I might let you see what colour bra I'm wearing tonight."

He smirked, "Dancing seems a doable task."

She turned at the sound of faint squeaking from the corner of the room, "Oh look at this," she complained, moving over to where one of the kittens had managed to drop itself half out of the cat basket Charles had purchased for them. She gently lifted its tiny body back into the middle of the cushion alongside the other two. "Three more rascals to have to deal with."

"Becky would have taken hers with her if she could."

"I know. That'll be a trip, driving up there with a kitten in the back."

"I'm already looking forward to it."

"What are we going to do with the other two? Advertise them I guess, I'll have to find out, I'll ask Anna – maybe you put it in the local paper: 'free to a good home'."

"We can't possibly give them away," he said, bending to the basket and picking up the tiny being that didn't even fill half of his palm. "Not now we've bonded. We were there when they were born – squawking into the world."

"Don't be so sentimental. They're cats. And it was hardly romantic – blood and gooey shit."

"They could be our babies," he said, tenderly brushing his thumb over its head as he got to his feet and brought his hand closer to Elsie's face. "Look, you're its mummy."

She knew exactly what he was trying to do, deliberately winding her up. "Charles – we're stuck with the other one you brought home. Now you want us to keep two more! Three cats in the house! This time last year I lived alone."

He pouted, "Darling, look how wonderful things are now though, how beautiful they are."

The week-old kitten had now curled into a ball in his hand and was yawning, preparing to sleep again. He gently slipped it back into the basket as Kate padded into the room and climbed in beside her babies. It had been decided that Munchkin, after all, wasn't a name Charles particularly wanted to shout from the doorstep of a winter night. But Kate – as in virginal – he found somewhat amusing considering what turned up in the lounge on Christmas Day. A Christmas miracle indeed. Becky had chosen the ginger and black kitten; she'd call it Munchkin and that would make her happy.

"I'll think about it," Elsie said, sitting at her dressing table and applying mascara. "Let me finish here and then I'm ready, if you want to order a taxi.

He squeezed her shoulders, kissed the top of her head, "I'll go do it before I put my jacket on."

She smiled at him in the mirror and stared at the sleeping basket of cats as he left her alone – four animals in her house, four! She'd managed all those years living there alone without one pet. Not even a fish.

Opening the drawers of her jewellery box she found a suitable necklace, earrings, bracelets… Her hand paused in the top compartment; her ring, _the ring_ , was still in its box at the front and for a second her hand hovered over it. Then she rethought it and reached for another, one the opposite in style, modern and minimalist, definitely dress jewellery not occasion jewellery. He hadn't mentioned it since Christmas Day and she'd been glad of that because somehow it meant she could ignore her uncertainty about it all, her insecurities, and just get on with the business of living. _Just enjoy the day-to-day Elsie_ , that's what she told herself, _make the most of the now and don't worry too much on the future_.

"Ten minutes," Charles shouted up to her.

"I'll be right down," she shouted back, "just getting my shoes." She hastily closed the lid of the jewellery box and got up, switching off the light above the vanity and turning to catch Kate staring at her from the basket. "Oh don't you start too," she said to the accusatory eyes of the cat. "Talking to a bloody animal now," she mumbled to herself, "it's a slippery slope."

Charles waited at the bottom of the stairs, Elsie's coat hung over one arm, he glanced at her bare feet as she came downstairs.

"Thought you were getting shoes?"

"They're here," she dangled them in the air.

"How the hell are you going to walk in those?"

"Steadily…" she smiled seductively, "Aren't they gorgeous? Haven't worn them in years but then I thought black and white party – black dress, white shoes," she turned them over, "red sole."

"They look expensive…" He held onto her arm as she put them on and then towered beside him. "My, a whole new Elsie."

"I feel like a glam model in them."

"How on earth you going to last the entire night?"

"Well, you see," she opened her handbag, "these genius things, folding flats for the handbag. If things get terrible I'll just pop these on."

Charles shook his head, "Women are a mystery to me. Complete mystery."

"I believe that's where the fun lies darling. Those kittens aren't going to pee on my bedroom carpet, are they?"

He raised his eyebrows but let the use of 'my' pass. "Come on, get your coat on."

"Never mind that," she said, turning to let him slip the coat onto her arms. "What about my carpet?"

"It'll be fine, I'm sure, I put them in that tray thing earlier. Besides more likely they'll pee on their cushion than your carpet."

"Well that calms me," she slipped a scarf around her neck. "I'd feel better if the basket was in the kitchen, we can clean that easier."

"Now…?" He complained.

"Please sweetheart, I'd be much more relaxed."

"For goodness sake," he marched off upstairs, leaving a smiling Elsie practising walking up and down the hall in her heels.

"Here they are," he said, "all snug. Mum's none too happy about the shift."

She watched as he placed the basket near the radiator in the kitchen. "Should be warm enough here." He said.

"Should we leave a light on whilst we're out?" Elsie asked, leaning against the door frame.

"They're cats, they can see in the dark. Plus, their eyes aren't even open yet." He kissed her forehead, squeezed her shoulder, "Silly."

"I'm not silly," she followed him to the hallway, and then went back in, switching on the light above the kitchen cabinets. "Just in case."

He was chuckling as he watched her, "Softie."

"Shut up. Let's go."

* * *

"Elsie Hughes…" there was the kind of charm to the man's voice that made Elsie close her eyes in recognition; this was the kind of voice she fell for, or had done, at one time.

She turned her head, smiling broadly as a middle-aged slice of dark-eyed handsomeness leaned in to kiss her cheek. "Hello Hugh," she said, returning the kiss and hug. "How are you?"

"Been years, you're looking good." He was holding one of her hands, pushing her back from him so he could really look at her. " _Very_ good."

"Now, now behave. I heard you're married these days."

"I am. With three kids. Can you fucking believe it? Me with children."

She laughed, sipping her wine, "I've got kittens so I can believe it."

"Kittens?"

"Never mind."

He stepped in closer to her as somebody pushed behind him. "Busy night."

"I remember it being as bad last year. At the Crawley's."

"You went there?"

She nodded, sipping more wine, "I was, got dragged along, by Izzy actually. I met Charles, hence the kittens."

"The kittens sound odd. Who's Charles?" Something in the man's mind seemed to twig, "Not Charles Carson?"

"How the hell do you know him?"

"Similar circles, these parties." He laughed, "Never pegged you as dating somebody like him, let alone long term."

"Bugger off, I'm older now than when we… Well, whatever _we_ did." She pushed his forearm, "And don't say that, he's wonderful."

"He seems a nice guy," Hugh agreed, chuckling, "Just not who I saw you with."

"Well… He is. We are." She finished her wine, scanning the room and spotting Charles by the fire deep in conversation, gesticulating and laughing as he told some story to the group around him. "How old are your children?"

"Eighteen months, three and just five."

"Well nobody could accuse you of hanging around."

"It's hell most of the time, frankly," he finished his drink, "You want another?"

She thought about it, watching Charles again, "Sure, why not." He took her glass and headed toward the kitchen to get her a refill.

For a few seconds she felt a little detached from the festivities, leaning against the entrance to the lounge, listening to the chatter going on around her, watching the celebrations.

The year before she'd been in a dark mood, mulling on the fakery of it all, the forced jovial chatter. She wasn't entirely sure who she was now, but certainly not the same woman she was but twelve months earlier.

"Are you on the lookout for catch number two?" A voice whispered by her ear and she turned quickly, back pressed against the wall, surprised, shocked at the intrusion into her thoughts. "Sorry, didn't mean to make you jump, just joking…" Alice said, a sly smile upon her face. "How are you?"

"Good thank you. And you, how are you all?"

"We're fine, nice Christmas. And you?"

"Lovely. Wonderful actually."

"Good," the fair-haired woman nodded amiably. "So…" Alice folded her hands together behind her back, pushing her chest forward. She had the kind of privileged entitlement Elsie had always hated. "Who's the guy?"

"Who? Hugh? Well, he's an old friend."

"Oh," Alice nodded, as if she knew what 'friend' really meant. "Handsome."

"Yes. He is." Elsie folded her hands in front of her stomach, "But that was a long time ago. Are you trying to argue with me?"

Alice smirked, glanced at the floor and then back to Elsie, shaking her head, "No, I'm not, not really. I was just testing the waters."

Elsie narrowed her eyes, "So, you're going to be _nice_ to me…? Is it even possible?"

Alice laughed, holding out her hand, "Shall we start again. I'm Alice."

"Yes, I think we've met before." Elsie shook her hand regardless; if Charles could be brave enough to hand her an engagement ring then she could try and build bridges with his old 'friend'. "What's changed?"

Alice shrugged, "You've stuck with him a year, I figure you're going to be a permanent fixture."

"Well, I'm glad you're coming around to that idea." She licked her lips. "You do realise we're never going to really get on, don't you?"

"Yes. I'm many things, but not stupid."

Elsie was about to respond when a glass of champagne was handed to her, "Oh, thank you. Hugh this is Alice."

"Nice to meet you, aren't you a handsome boy." Alice shook his hand, and Elsie watched as her hips moved towards him, as Hugh grinned in flirtatious return. She knew the signs, and the moves, because she'd done them for years herself.

She sipped her Champagne and looked back towards the fireplace, searching for Charles. He caught her eye and she smiled as he raised his glass to her. There were more important things than flirting and feuds with exes. Much more important things.

* * *

It was just after ten when Charles excused himself from the group conversation, he was suddenly feeling incredibly hot – it was throbbing with people and the room seemed to be closing in on him.

He pushed his way into the hall, tried to block out the chatter of those around him and slipped down the side of a group of giggling women. The music was louder out there and in the next room people were writhing about as they danced yet the kitchen looked practically empty so he headed in there.

He deposited his wine glass on the side with the others, unconsciously pushing back the haphazardly left glasses into a neat, straight line. He'd had quite enough wine for the evening and was in need of something stronger, smoother.

Usually at these things he knew where to hide; Robert's house was as familiar to him as his own flat but here he didn't know where anything was. He wondered about his flat, stupid of him but he wondered how it was, it'd been empty for a few weeks now with Tom away and Charles making home elsewhere. Perhaps he'd go round when Elsie went back to work in two days time; water the plants, dust some sideboards.

Locating a bottle of Bourbon on the side he decided it would do and unscrewed the lid, finding a tumbler and rinsing it in the sink.

Maybe he would contact this Simon chap after all, look into the course he wanted him to contribute to. It seemed rather an odd thing, to speak to lads wanting to work in such an old industry. Made Charles feel a bit of a dinosaur. But it could be interesting, and it was money, and he wasn't retired quite yet.

He lifted the bottle to pour. His hand shook, his arm shook, right down to his elbow. The alcohol splashed the side of the glass and Isobel's counter top and he had to use his left hand to hold his arm still and put the bottle back down.

Stillness. Questions like ice stabbed at his brain. A slinking dark realisation crept through his mind as he had visions of his father and his grandfather. Age had come to remind him that no moment of happiness can go unscathed. And then there was a hand to his shoulder, fingers pressing into his shirt, and the pressure made him snap around.

"Woah, are you alright?" Alice asked, surrounding him with perfume. The flash of her red lips against pure skin, the bob of her blonde hair. "You seem shaken," she rested her hand tenderly to his lower arm. "Charles, are you alright?"

He breathed deeply, reached up his free hand to dab his forehead. "Just hot; is it hot in here?"

"Perhaps a little, you want to go out? Get some air?"

He nodded, eyes frantic as he searched for an exit. Alice calmly took hold of his hand, "Here, there's a back door, looks like a conservatory." She led him out, sat him on the floral sofa and knelt in front of him, clutching his clammy hands. "What happened?"

"Nothing," he lifted his head up, clearing his lungs with winter air. "Went dizzy is all."

He focussed on her face, and she smiled at him, "Better?"

"Getting there. Thanks."

"Not a problem. You were pouring a drink; you still want it?"

Alice fetched two glasses and they sat in the darkness of the conservatory listening to the celebration going on inside.

"Elsie said you had a wonderful Christmas," Alice said.

"You spoke to her?"

"Earlier tonight, she looks nice, relaxed."

"She is. Parties do that to her." He finished his drink.

"I always remember you being a little allergic to them."

He chuckled, "Yes, I am rather. Different now, not being here alone. How was your Christmas?"

"Good. Interesting, you see, there's some news," she twisted her mouth and frowned as if considering how to phrase it. "William got engaged."

Charles felt his pulse quicken, a strange kind of sinking feeling as his heart adjusted to the news.

Alice shrugged, "I thought you'd want to know."

"I do. Thank you." He allowed himself a breath and a drink. "What's she like?"

"Lovely. In fact, I think you might have met her, he's been with her a year or so now, she might have been at some party or other…" she paused, staring into his kind eyes. "They're coming here tonight, actually."

"Oh?"

"They went for dinner first, just the two of them. But they said they'd come ready for the midnight countdown, Isobel didn't mind."

"Well, she's the kindest soul."

"She is." Alice licked her lips, leaning back on the couch and turning her face to his. "Can you imagine, me a grandmother?"

"Is she pregnant?" He asked quickly.

"No. Not yet anyway. But she's twenty-nine, I guess they want to get on with starting their own family… …seems odd, doesn't it?"

He found he didn't have words for that. His illegitimate son having a wife and child; where did that place Charles in the scheme of things?

"Somebody mentioned Elsie's family came to stay?" Alice said and he tuned his ears back in to the conversation, tried to dull the buzzing in his brain.

"Yes, her father and sister. It was nice. Really nice to have time with all of us together."

Alice nodded, "That's good. I'm glad you're happy."

"Are you?" He frowned, sitting close beside her.

"Of course," she covered his hand with hers. "I only want the best for you Charles, always. I would never want anything but." She squeezed his fingers with hers. "I will always love you Charles, we'll always have something, won't we…?"

* * *

When he emerged from the conservatory, alone and feeling a little like he was standing naked in the dark, he spotted Elsie dancing with Anna and Ethel in, what was usually, Isobel's dining room. Though the table and chairs had been removed and it was decorated with disco lights presently and full of people, spilling out into the hall, and then through the French doors and into the garden. It was some kind of fast moving, pounding song and they were grinding up against each other and laughing and Charles thought how young and carefree she looked; her hair swaying about, the easy movements of her body.

They were singing, well shouting to the ceiling as they danced and he did his best to grasp the lyrics but really modern music to him was a nonsensical bunch of random words shoved together. He watched Elsie's mouth move in time with the music and caught the line 'I will love you till the end of time…' it seemed odd, to have such a heartfelt romantic sentiment attached to such a beat-heavy song.

There was a man with them, younger than Charles, maybe early forties, he couldn't tell. He was handsome though, and currently twirling Beryl around and grabbing hold of the other women as they all moved together.

Skulking away, he clutched his refilled drink, grabbed a handful of nuts from a bowl on the side and tried to find somewhere to sit and think.

* * *

It took her a while to locate him, as busy and crowded as things were. But it was 11:22 and she wanted to be with him for the countdown, some kind of mini anniversary. Or rather, in her mind, a real milestone.

When she got to the back room, a quiet room where Isobel usually sat to read and drink tea, she spotted the back of his head. He was sitting on a couch that had been pushed in there, haphazardly shifted furniture to make room for the guests, and staring out of the window to the black garden.

There was hardly anyone in there; a younger couple kissing, her perched on Isobel's best dining table (she best not tell her that) and him between her legs holding her close. It made Elsie smile, Charles probably hadn't even noticed. Another couple chatting, flirting. It made her think of the pair of them and where chance meetings at parties could lead.

"Dance with me…" She whispered huskily by Charles' ear, one hand gripping his shoulder, the other sliding down his arm. "Mmm," she hummed against his skin, kissing his cheek, the side of his neck. "Come dance with the woman you love before it turns midnight."

He tilted his head back to look up at her, her hair falling over his face as he did so. "Isobel's going to have a hell of a lot of tidying up to do tomorrow. You think we should offer to help?"

"No we should not." She laughed, sliding around the side of the sofa, squeezing between the stacked dining chairs and down onto his lap. "Charles… come dance, please, I haven't seen you all night."

He caught hold of her hand, kissing the back of it. "Who was the guy dancing with you earlier?"

"Oh, Hugh… _huge_ Hugh we used to call him," she laughed, raising her eyebrows naughtily. "A past conquest."

"Oh…" he grumbled.

"Don't worry darling, he's married now with children. Though I've no idea where his wife is tonight." She leant in close to him, whispering again, "And the last I saw of him he was getting overly friendly with Ethel."

"What? And he's married?"

Elsie shrugged, "None of our business." She got to her feet again, pulling on his hands, "Come on. Dance – with – me."

"Elsie, I'm not really –,"

"Mr. Carson?" A voice queried and Elsie looked up and over Charles' head to the couple who had been kissing on the table. There was something about the boy's voice, his stature as he stared back at her that made her stomach lurch.

Charles got up slowly, weary recognition as he adopted an easy smile and turned to face William.

"I thought it was you," William said, letting go of the girl he was with and coming over to them. "Recognised your voice." He held out his hand and Charles shook it, the sofa between them.

"Good to see you William, Happy New Year."

"And to you, been so long since I've seen you at Dad's, but I guess I'm not there that often now." He placed his second hand over Charles', warmly shaking it.

"Things get busy and such and you're working up in…?"

"Leeds," William said. "It's going well."

"Science, wasn't it, your strength?"

"Yeah, research now mostly, for the University. It's where I met Niamh."

"You're a scientist too?" He asked the pretty brunette.

"Biologist." She shook his hand, "Nice to meet you Mr Carson."

"Oh please, call me Charles," he said weakly, thrown by this entire meeting. "Oh God, this is Elsie," he said, watching as she squeezed around the arm of the sofa and went to hug William, he held his hand out formerly and they both laughed at the awkwardness but she hugged him anyway.

"Happy New Year," she smiled, "Good to meet you, both of you, Charles had mentioned you."

"Had he? You know my parents too?"

"Only a little, only through Charles."

"Oh right, well this is my –," he stopped himself, sliding an arm around the woman he was with. "I keep saying girlfriend, my fiancée, this is my fiancée." He said proudly.

Elsie kept a straight face as she congratulated them, searching the man's face for any signs of his true father, his voice, his demeanour, his mannerisms. Was it really nature or nurture that determined it?

"She's trying to get me to dance," she heard Charles say, and felt his hand grip hers as he came around the sofa to join them. "Not really my thing."

"I tell him it's New Year, you've got to let go."

"I agree," Niamh said, "we need to go find your parents, we promised them we'd come meet them here to see in 2017."

"Seems amazing I've lived this long," Charles said, and Elsie looked up to his face, something in his voice surprising her.

"Let's live a while longer," she said, "come on, it's slow tunes now, you can manage that."

"I think you should Mr Carson," William said, "it'll be fun."

"Great shoes," Niamh suddenly pointed out.

Elsie rolled her eyes, "They're killing me…"

"But they look amazing."

"Which is all that matters!" Elsie agreed laughing. "Really nice to meet you both."

"And you."

They departed leaving Charles and Elsie in silence. She listened to his breathing, wondered how his heart felt.

"You okay?" She whispered without looking at him.

He gave a curt nod, pulling her closer to him, an arm around her waist. "An odd night." He closed his eyes momentarily, his brain awash with emotion. "Come on, I'll do my fifteen minutes on the dancefloor for you."

* * *

"A year ago your eyes were following me around the room," she said as they swayed to the music. "Every time I looked up you seemed to be looking at me."

"Like a stalker," he chided. "You altered my behaviour, within hours," he admitted, turning her around as they slow danced. "Some power you had."

" _Had_? Have I lost it?" She smiled up at him, less of distance to his mouth in the skyscraper heels. Her eyes fell on his lips, she must have kissed him a thousand times over the past year, certainly hundreds.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Your mouth, and kissing you."

He smiled proudly; earlier he felt the room had been closing in on him and he needed to escape, now he was sure it was and he was glad of it. The music swirled around them and he felt Elsie's hand on his back, her fingertips toying with his shirt.

"You haven't answered my question," She said lightly.

"Your power," he placed a kiss to the top of her head, "has changed somewhat. For a start, it's stronger now."

"Oh…?" She pursed her lips together, leaning back in his arms a little as the song changed. This was a sexier beat, a darker one, and she enjoyed it. It made her move her body differently, slide into him, her arms tight around him, pelvis pressing into his as she laid her head on his chest.

' _Must be love on the brain…'_

She let one hand travel up his spine, her fingertips tickling the back of his neck, tugging on strands of his hair. She wanted to be naked with him, no, she wanted him to be undressing her, unpeeling every inch of her until she was open to him. She closed her eyes as the second chorus swelled and she felt her pulse quicken; she was completely his, absolutely now. Why did she let doubts in, even for a second?

' _I'm no good without you…'_

She felt his heart thump beneath her cheek.

Charles let his hand wander down to Elsie's hip, ghosting over her bottom, her hair tickled his nose and he lifted his head a little. Anna was dancing with John near them, she looked serenely happy, and it made him smile as he scanned the gathered guests, noted the ones he was friendly with, the ones who had become part of his life over the past year.

He caught sight of Charlie and Alice, watched as they laughed together and Charlie twirled his wife around in front of him before drawing her back, wrapping her tight in his arms. Alice looked up and smiled warmly at him, her eyes piercing across the room. He heard her words from earlier. He saw William's face. His son getting married, and then possibly babies on the way and he would never even know. Nobody would ever know.

"I love you," Elsie whispered by his ear, standing on tiptoes as the song ended and he felt himself return to the room. "It's almost midnight…" She said, grasping his hand and pulling him out of the way as others crowded together to count down to 2017.

She led him away from them all, away from strangers and confusion, down the hallway, out of the front door and down the steps into the street. Fireworks started somewhere, exploded above them and Elsie swung around on his arm, bringing her body into his and kissing him.

He trembled at her touch. His mind awash with feeling and confusion.

"Happy New Year, Mr Carson," she said by his mouth. "We made it through year one…" she kissed him again, holding his face in her hands. "Plenty more to come."

He looked down at her, realised at some point she must have kicked off the heels which now sat at the top of the stairs. How had he missed that? Had he blacked out?

"I love you," she said again, holding him, smiling. "Last year, I think it's fair to say, I seduced you. Tonight," she was kissing his face, holding his hands in hers. "I want to make love to you, over and over…"

He covered her mouth with his, partly to give his brain time to catch up. The cold air was welcome, the fireworks and cheers from inside somehow settling.

"I love you too," he finally said.

"Shall we go home? Sneak away again like last year?"

He smiled at her joy, at how beautiful she looked right then gazing up at him.

"Yes," he agreed, and watched as she collected her shoes from the top step and slipped on the flats instead.

"We can walk from here," she stated, "it'll be nice, won't take long." She was leading him down the path, swinging his arm. "I'm hungry actually, didn't realise Izzy was only doing nibbly bits that get stuck in your teeth. You fancy being desperately naughty and getting take-out as we walk?"

"Sure," he nodded, and then, when they were part way down the street, he suddenly stopped. "Oh God, I forgot to do something." He dropped her hand, "I won't be a second." He turned and started jogging back to the house.

"Where are you going?"

"Just a second…" He raced back to Isobel's, took the steps in one stride, and pushed open the door, frantically searching the hallway and then the lounge. He pushed past people brandishing glasses and singing until he found what he'd come for.

Grasping the young man's upper arm he breathed deeply, panting, "I forgot to say congratulations." He said to William. "I really mean it, congratulations on your engagement."

* * *

"Remember how I was meant to be your one night stand," Elise said, mouth full of pizza, fingers greasy with it.

"I think you made that decision whilst knelt on the kitchen floor with me cleaning up broken glass. I think _after_ the event you rather changed your mind."

She chuckled, "Oh, you mean after I'd tested out the goods." She nodded, wiping her chin with a tissue already stained orange from cheese and tomato sauce. "I guess that's a fair call."

He laughed; the farther they walked from the party, the more they were alone, the more he felt like himself. Happy. Whole.

"This tastes bloody good," he said, finishing off the crust of his second slice.

"See. I told you, if you get a spicy one after drinking it cuts through the grease a bit."

"I suppose it doesn't matter when we're only going to be snogging each other."

"Oh you're expecting to snog, are you?"

"Well, I rather thought after two weeks of it being off the menu we might enjoy five minutes or so…"

She elbowed his arm, making the pizza box wobble as it balanced on his hand. "It best not be five minutes. I was thinking I would like to make love to you until the sun rises… and then stay in bed tomorrow and sleep it all off."

"What a way to start a new year."

"Mmm, can I have another bit?"

He opened the box and they both took out another slice; Charles watched as she bit off the thin end of the triangle and sighed happily.

"I was starving," she admitted.

"Me too actually, didn't realise until we got this. You been there before?"

"Never, I'd happily buy their pizza again though." She suddenly laughed, "You know what makes me unutterably happy?"

"Gin?"

"Very funny. This, actually, eating pizza with you and not caring that I look messy or that you think me unhealthy or classless."

He finished his third slice, "I suppose that is a nice way to view it. You might be wrong," he teased, "but it's a quaint way to view it."

"Hey," she stopped walking, turning to face him, her chest pressing against his. "Be nice to me."

"Nice?" He smiled down at her, brushing his nose against hers before kissing her deeply. He brushed her hair back from her face, the hair that had become trapped between their faces as they'd kissed, his eyes full of affection. "Elsie Hughes, my one night stand that turned into a year."

"And swept you away and captured your heart yeah, yeah I know all that," she giggled and he laughed with her before she kissed him again, her hands in his hair.

"How many times do you think we've kissed since last New Year's Eve?" He asked, face flushed.

"Thousands," she nipped his chin with her teeth. "Not enough, never enough. And technically we kissed on New Year's Day, in the very early hours of it."

"Very true. How many times do you think we've made love?"

She smirked, hooking her arm tight around his as they set off walking again, passing others walking home from parties, or stumbling, singing and shouting as alcohol fuelled celebrations go.

"Not enough of that neither."

He lowered his voice, "Apparently, if you put a pound in a jar every time you make love in the first year of a relationship, then after that take out a pound every time, well you'll never empty that jar. Apparently."

"I hope that isn't true. I want to still be enjoying you well into my seventies and beyond if we can manage it."

"Good Lord, I'd hate to think of a pair of ninety year olds at it."

"Charles," she laughed, "if they can manage it then I say good luck to them. You might change your mind when you're ninety and still lusting after me."

"That's true, I may very well lust after you until I die."

"I hope so, I wouldn't want you to get bored." They turned into their street; in contrast to some of the others they'd walked down it was quiet, still. "You aren't getting bored, are you?"

"With what?"

"Us. The normalcy of this. It was kind of exciting at the start, when we didn't know each other so well. Meeting at your flat. Discovering what the other wanted and liked. Talking. Dating. That bit's exciting."

"I'm not bored, Elsie," he assured her. "How would it ever be possible to get bored with you? You're like a damn whirlwind."

"I'll take that as a positive."

He followed her up the drive, watched as she dangled her fancy shoes on one hand and searched in her bag for the keys.

"You best check those kittens are okay before we start anything." She warned, blinking as the security light came on.

"Check they're _okay_? Was that concern? Affection?"

"I mean check they haven't peed on my floor," she said, unlocking the door. "Or worse."

Charles placed one hand on her hip, "Sure you did," he whispered, kissing the back of her head. "There's two slices left…" He held the box in the air, "keep it or bin it?"

"Keep, we might need the energy later."

He left Elsie in the hallway taking off her shoes and flicking through the many 'Happy New Year' text messages she'd received. He went to put the pizza in the fridge, spotting several pools of yellow on the floor by the back door.

"Oh bugger," he said, slamming the fridge door close.

"What? Are they alright?" She popped her head around.

"Alright? I was planning on seducing my girlfriend, now I'm going to clean up cat pee."

She sniggered, "Oh, but cute though, aren't they? This is the kind of thing you have to put up with if you're going to have babies."

"Clear off," He said, grabbing the kitchen towel and bending to wipe up the mess.

"Wash your hands before you join me."

* * *

When Charles had cleaned the kitchen and fed Kate, he finally turned off the light and closed the door behind him. It was well after 1:00 and he was starting to flag.

He paused mid-step when he spotted her, feeling his body respond instinctively, naturally.

"My…" he breathed deeply, his voice clouded.

"You took your time," she drawled and it took him a few seconds to focus clearly on the scene.

Elsie was in her underwear, red underwear to be precise, sitting a third of the way up the stairs with her legs crossed, her left leg swinging in the air… the heels she wore for the party elongating her legs.

"That erm… that might well be the sexiest thing I've ever seen. In my entire life."

"In real life?"

"Are you suggesting I might have looked at sexual images in a fantasy life, Ms Hughes?"

She uncrossed and re-crossed her legs. "I would think it very odd if you hadn't indulged in some kind of images at some point, Mr Carson," She said pointedly.

He licked his lips, "You've caught me off guard."

"Are you feeling flushed?" She held her hand up, a shot glass in it, "Here. Have a drink."

He took the glass, entranced by the light in her eyes; the naughty glint, yes, but something more than that. Beyond lust and more than affection. He wasn't sure if it turned him on even more or petrified him. It had been an odd night and for some reason he felt like his body wasn't quite in one place.

He downed the drink in one.

"Take your clothes off, Charles." She instructed and he put the glass aside and started on his shirt buttons, glad of her instruction because it gave him something to focus on other than how glorious her body looked.

"It's been weeks," he said, letting the shirt fall to the floor, "I might not be much use."

"Ah, but you see," she got to her feet, standing tall above him on the stairs, hands on hips. "Luckily, I have experience."

"You're stunning," his hands paused on his belt bucket. "Elsie…"

"Come here," she said softly and he moved to the foot of the stairs at her request, doing his best to keep his hands to himself. Her eyes fixed on his, holding his gaze challengingly as her fingers easily slipped open his trousers and let them shrug down his legs.

She finally leaned forward an inch and touched his lips with hers. His eyes inevitably closed and he sank into the kiss, bringing his arms up around her body, hands on her back as he held her against him. Her fingertips were drawing lazy yet insistent patterns upon his shoulders, tracing over his neck,

He couldn't help himself; he tightened his hold on her, lifting her up into the air. She kicked her legs behind her, laughing as he twirled her around, mouths still meeting in easy kisses.

When he pressed her back against the wall suddenly the laughter was gone, replaced with something much more primal. He hadn't made love to her in an age it seemed, and the temptation of her had been present throughout Christmas, their usual easy intimacy quelled by the presence of family members. He groaned into her mouth gripping her tighter and she giggled, her lips leaving his and travelling over his neck.

"That feels good," he breathed, hands flat against the wall, eyes closed as he simply enjoyed the feel of her mouth on his body. The plain joy that came with having her attention. She licked his skin, blew warm air into his belly button and he jiggled in front of her making her giggle.

Her knees touched the polished wood of the hall floor and she grimaced a little, scooting back onto the rug, giving her a better angle as she tugged down his black briefs.

"Ohhh god… That feels _really_ good…" He groaned as her mouth moved lower. "Elsie…"

"Shh," she hummed against his skin, one hand on his thigh, the other gripping his bottom. "Stop thinking and just enjoy being together," she leant back to look up at him. Her face flushed, eyes dancing with desire. "And that we can walk around our home naked, and do anything, anywhere."

He smiled, sliding his hand into her hair, "You look beautiful."

"You don't need to flatter me right at this moment…" She slid a hand between his legs, cupping him. "Though I enjoy it all the same." She smiled; he looked glorious, naked before her, tall, broad, whole. He smelt wonderful. The heat from his body flooding her. And his eyes were closed, breathing laboured and heavy as her fingertips danced upon him.

Charles closed his mind. Let it all swim in and slim down to this – one second following another, and then another, and another. Elsie filling each one with sensuality. Pleasure.

A year ago she opened him up, turned his body inside out. Spun him, rung him, made his bones shake and muscles stretch. She was part of him now, in every way they could be. Not just physically but emotionally, she was everything he'd ever wanted and he longed for her, longed to be sure of all this – how she felt for him, what she wanted or expected from him and this, their relationship. Did she see it lasting, going on forever until deathbeds and endless tears and bodies weary from parting? And if she was his all then why; why an ache, why a hole, why the question?

"Oh shit," he gasped, jerking back, banging his head and clipping it against the picture frame on the wall. "Jusss… stop…" He rested one hand on her head, the other reaching up to steady the wobbling frame.

"Are you alright?" She asked, the hint of a tease to her voice.

"You're too damn good at that…" he puffed, rubbing his forehead. "Nearly knocked myself out."

She pursed her lips, getting to her feet, one hand pressing on the floor to support herself.

"Are we done?"

"I would say the painful throbbing between your legs indicates otherwise, wouldn't you?"

"You've spent too much time with me," he said, watching open mouthed as she unclipped her bra. "You're more sarcastic than you used to be."

"Nonsense," she threw her bra at him, he caught it in one hand. "I was sarcastic age eight."

He chuckled, feeling light hearted as he watched her body move; that divine freckled skin. "You know I was about to…"

"I rather sensed that, yes." She hooked a thumb at either side of her panties, "I wouldn't have minded."

"Ohhh…?"

She bent forward, like silk as she moved, like she knew exactly what she was doing, Charles thought as he hopelessly watched.

"As long as you don't plan on sleeping immediately after." She slinked towards him, "Remember last year? We lay in bed chatting between bouts."

"You make it sound a contest."

She bit her bottom lip again, held onto it as she got closer to him. "You can admit I really turned you on though, didn't I?"

"Ridiculous question."

Her eyes widened, "Like nobody before…?"

"I thought you didn't need flattery."

She pressed her hands to his chest, "And do I still?"

"Are you actually asking me that when my erection is pressed against your stomach?"

"Mr. Carson," she giggled, "That's the first time you've ever said the word 'erection' to me."

"Oh it is not." His arms curled around her body.

"It is," she kissed his upper chest, "I'm sure it is. And it's different."

"What is?" He whispered, her hair brushing his face as she kissed him.

"Erections and being turned on and sex and… and big stuff."

He shook his head, the events from earlier in the evening forgotten now. "A one night stand is as different to dating as dating is as different to a relationship."

"Did I tell you that?" She smirked, "Sounds like something I'd say."

"Wise woman."

He pressed his mouth to hers, kissing her passionately, deeply, until her body was curving around his, opening to him, begging for him. He covered her breasts with his hands, followed the route down with his mouth, turned them around so she was back against the wall and he could trail his lips over her chest, tease her nipples, play between her legs.

"I want you so much," he pressed the words into her stomach, tasted her skin, even ignored the dull ache of his knees as he adored her.

"Come on…" she mumbled, a hand on his hair, fingers tugging the thick strands before she shifted from between his body and the wall and headed for the stairs. "Oh god!" She yelped as her foot stood on the heel of her abandoned shoes and she tripped, sliding on the rug and tripping forward.

"Christ you alright?" He was clumsy as he got to his feet and went after her.

She was laughing, her hands pressed against the carpeted stairs, body shaking as she laughed and laughed.

"That's a yes, then," he rested his hands on her hips, laughing too.

She glanced over her shoulder at him, "Clumsy old cow."

"I wouldn't say _old_ ," he teased kissing across her shoulder blades, "Do you know how irresistible your back is? Just perfect," he ran his index finger down the back of her neck. "Just here. Perfection."

She didn't respond but lifted her mouth to his, stroking his tongue with hers, wiggling her bottom against him until he got the idea and planted his feet more firmly, tilted her just a fraction more until they got the right angle.

Then there was nothing but a flurry of movement and wonder, on Charles' side, that they were doing this right there in the hallway leaning against the stairs. Elsie's fingers gripping the carpet as she moaned her pleasure, called his name. For a few seconds, he pondered on the thought that if anybody came to the back door all they'd see was his naked bottom! But then Elsie thrust back against him and he felt his body give up the fight and topple over the edge of the cliff. He roared his release to the ceiling and then everything was black and there was a buzzing in his ears.

"I think we waited too long…" he heard her gasp a few seconds later, and he drifted back into reality, listening to her panting, to the thud of his own heart. "Oh goodness," she said, pushing herself up on her arms, and for the first time it suddenly occurred to him she might have been uncomfortable.

"Didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No," she looked up at him, her hair in her face, cheeks red from the exertion. "Of course not. You know I like to be exciting. Try new things."

In his current frame of mind, he couldn't help but wonder if that meant she was getting bored with their day-to-day, week-to-week missionary position in the bedroom.

"You'll have to move first," she said, "Charles, sweetheart." She prompted, "You're daydreaming. Can you move, help me back up?"

He kept his hands on her hips, moved slowly, carefully, fully aware now of how her body worked. She'd need to pee, then they'd get in bed and she'd curl against him for a while, until the orgasm passed and she realised she'd quite like another.

"Would you get me some water?" She asked as she turned around, and he pulled her tight to him, kissing her fiercely. "Mm, that was nice."

"Love you," he mumbled, unwilling to break the kiss.

"I love you too darling, very much. You're in an… well, you seemed, earlier, in a bit of an odd mood tonight. Not with me?"

He felt like the second stretched to eternity and back. He shook his head, "No. Not you. Are you going to the bathroom?"

"Yes, then I'll race you to bed." She ran her palm down his chest, "Ooh, first time in our new bed."

* * *

Elsie was on top of him, leaning back, lifting her body, rolling her hips. Her hair cascaded down and tickled his shins and he tried to focus on the sensation of that rather than the fact he was so close to climaxing. Or how divine her breasts looked or the wonderful plump roundness of her bottom in his hands.

She fell forward again and he lifted his mouth to meet hers in yet more kisses. He didn't want to stop, not for a second, because then his brain might work and he'd have to think and he didn't want to concern himself with anything but her. If this could just go on and on, he could lose himself in her.

Her body felt slight in his arms, and he smiled up at her as she pressed her palms to his, curling her fingers around his as she moved and held him with her gaze.

"Your eyes are stunning," he said, voice clouded with emotion. There was such affection for her that his chest felt physically clamped down with the weight of it. "Do you know…" he breathed deeply, exhaling through an open mouth. "…it was the first thing I noticed."

"Really?" She dropped her head to one side, eyebrow quirked mockingly.

"Well… maybe not… God, Elsie."

She leant forward to kiss his forehead, "Should I stop so you can talk?"

He found her mouth with his. "Your voice. That was the first thing that I fell for."

Elsie laughed at that, nudging her nose against his. "It was the same for me. Your voice, and your broad, broad chest."

"Not too hairy…" He closed his eyes as she moved again, lifting her body, grinding her hips.

"Ha, no, not too hairy." She watched his face, traced her fingers over his chest as she slid back and forth so very slowly, and the whispers of pleasure etched across his features.

The last New Year's Eve she'd told him she was a charity case, alone, single and to be pitied. Somehow she felt powerful because of that, strong and edgy. Now, deeply in love and in the midst of a relationship, she felt fragile at times, anxious almost as she navigated the joys and pitfalls of it. Nervous that she was doing it right, making him happy.

Perhaps he felt the same, none of it was ever going to be easy; two old sods such as they trying to bump along together after a lifetime of pleasing only themselves. Her body shook as she laughed and his hands flew up and gripped her hips.

"Sorry."

"You're not meant to laugh during this."

"Sometimes you can laugh," she dropped forward, "sometimes." She slid her hands beneath his back, hugging him. "I'm so happy, Charles." She pressed her face against his chest, "You've made me so happy."

Charles pressed a kiss to her head, "That's why you're laughing?"

"No. Because I got this image of us as two old tortoises trying to bump along together, our shells banging together."

"Are you high?"

She laughed again as she lifted her face from his neck, "No, I only drank wine, and the same shot you had downstairs.

He brushed her hair back from her face, turned them slightly so their bodies were facing. She lifted her leg over his and they repositioned themselves to make it work.

"You've made me happy too," he whispered against her forehead as he kissed her.

* * *

"How many couples do you think are sitting in bed drinking tea and eating chocolate Hob Nobs at 3a.m. on New Year's Day?" Elsie asked, curling her legs beneath her and pushing a pillow up behind her.

"Probably more than we imagine," Charles passed her mug across. "I think it's rather nice."

"Well, of course so do I," she snapped a biscuit in half between her thumb and forefinger. "It's how most cool people spend the evening."

He chuckled, stretching his legs beneath the quilt and pulling the sheets up to his belly.

"You think the party's still going on?" He asked.

"No, Izzy texted. She was going to bed and dealing with the state of the house tomorrow."

His eyebrows rose, "Oh God, I can't imagine, hell."

"Absolutely. Fun though, wasn't it? And good to see Robert and Cora there, if only for an hour."

"I think it's good for them too, to get out, see people. Take them away from the loss for a while."

"I can't imagine what it must feel like. How agonising."

"No…" he said softly. "Odd thought."

"What is?" She finished her tea, put her mug aside and shifted down beneath the sheets, settling her head on the pillow beside his body.

"The thought of my son marrying before me."

She breathed deeply, let the air out slowly. There was the distinct possibility this was just thinking out loud, just mulling things over. But there was also the possibility that the evening's news had thrown him.

"You went back to speak to him, didn't you?"

"I forgot to say congratulations."

Elsie tucked a hand beneath her chin in order to look up at him, "He got engaged?"

"Over Christmas." He looked down at her, her crystal eyes staring up at him. "I ran into Alice at the party."

"So did I…" She reached a hand over and rested it on his chest, her fingers stretching back and forth as she gently stroked his skin. Charles placed his hand over hers, and she turned her palm up, folding their fingers together.

"Why didn't you wear the ring tonight?"

Her hand clenched beneath his, "Just… because. It wouldn't have gone with my outfit." She tried to smile, to make it light-hearted.

"That answer sounds a little lame."

"You know, it's just…" she pulled her hand free, "it's large, stands out."

"Tell them it's costume jewellery."

"Charles. It clearly isn't. It's a massive diamond –,"

"You don't like it," he flopped on his back.

"I didn't say that."

"You can just admit it, if you don't like it, wanna take it back or whatever."

"Charles. I didn't say I don't like it. It's beautiful. I love it." She bit down on her bottom lip, feeling a little shaky as she spoke, "I feel a little guilty though. That I didn't spend that kind of money on you."

"The money doesn't matter."

"No but the fact I've not worn the ring clearly does. The fact I didn't give you the answer you wanted does."

He turned onto his side to face her, frowning, "You think I have a pre-determined response in mind?"

She didn't want to discuss this now; it was late and they were tired and still somewhat drunk and he was emotional. "People would ask questions," she said softly. "If I wore it. They'd notice; Izzy, Beryl, and ask and I find it very hard to lie."

"What would you have to lie about?"

"That it wasn't a proposal."

"I didn't propose."

"Charles –,"

He closed his eyes, "Alright." He nodded, "Alright."

"You wanted to get engaged. You want to."

"No," he looked at her again, his eyes watery it seemed in the dimness of the room. "I want us to marry, there's a difference. We could skip the engagement for me and all that other stuff."

"And I…" She breathed deeply, looked over his head, away from his face. "Sometimes I just feel rushed. I keep telling you I need to just –,"

"What?"

"You keep… I've told you several times I just need space and time and I feel a bit pressured. Everyone's talking about the idea of you and I getting married and then you present me with this ring and Christ we've only known each other a year and I can't rush…"

"Bloody hell, I didn't realise a lifetime with me would seem that bad."

"Don't be ridiculous. You know damn well that isn't the case, I love you," She shifted her body so she was closer to him. "Charles, don't sulk." He rolled his eyes. "And don't be angry with me."

"I don't know what you want me to say to you after that. Like I'm some bully forcing you into this whole thing."

"I don't know how to explain how I feel, what you want me to say to you… well clearly I do. _Yes._ You wanted me to, I don't know, see this dazzling ring and just fall at your feet and say yes."

"No Elsie, that's not what I wanted. I thought that maybe you'd say yes in time because you love me and wanted to spend the rest of your life with me."

"And I do want that." She rested her hand on his upper arm, "I didn't mean to hurt you. I never would. Please, don't be angry, we were having such a lovely time tonight and we're finally alone again… I don't want to start the year on a negative." She kissed his chest, did her best to hold him. "I really love you. This isn't about that."

"Then what?"

"Charles I've been on my own a very long time."

"So have I."

"So that's why I thought you'd understand it. How I feel. I need time, to feel it's the right moment and we're okay and I'm not going to get cold feet and mess it all up." She lifted her mouth to his, kissing him tenderly, her hand moving over his cheek as she cupped his face. "I do love you," she whispered, "I'll always love you."

* * *

 **Earlier that evening…**

 _Alice nodded, "That's good. I'm glad you're happy."_

" _Are you?" He frowned, sitting close beside her._

" _Of course," she covered his hand with hers. "I only want the best for you Charles, always. I would never want anything but." She squeezed his fingers with hers. "I will always love you Charles, we'll always have something, won't we…?"_

 _He felt his throat tighten, in fact he could focus in on the pulse in his neck, the very spot where his blood was vibrating and his skin quivering. Somewhere inside his brain was a quiet pounding, the thrum of energy that she brought._

 _He lifted his chin, gave the tiniest, slightest hint of a nod._

 _Charles' eyes closed unconsciously as Alice leaned into his space, and then there was that actual physical experience of being outside of his body, of being nothing more than a spectre, skin and bones. Her lips touched his cheek. He breathed, allowed himself to dare to breathe. Her lips touched his, just a ghost of a touch, and he trembled, shivered, collapsed inside._

" _Charles…" she said softly, touching his hair. "I will always love you."_

" _I'll always love you too," he mumbled. Lost all over again._

* * *

 _ **Not sure how you'll respond but it's interesting for me to write…**_


	33. Chapter 33

_**Do not judge others, and God will not judge you; do not condemn others, and God will not condemn you; forgive others, and God will forgive you.**_

* * *

 **Chapter 33**

 **1** **st** **January 2017**

Charles woke on his side, which was odd in itself as he usually slept on his back and would wake to find Elsie's arm around him, her head on his chest. It was like being permanently cuddled and they'd fallen so easily into that sharing of affection that when he woke and things were different it made him feel uncomfortable.

That particular morning he was facing the bedroom door, disorientated as his eyes adjusted and he made sense of the lopsided image. As his brain rearranged things and put shapes in order, he became aware of her arm over his waist, her hand draped near his stomach, her forehead pressed against his back. It made him smile – he remembered one of her comments about hairy backs being a turn off, one of her flippant no-nonsense remarks.

Some things in life were hard come by, others seemed so easy and natural. Like the physicality between them or how simple things could be when it was just the two of them. When it was just chatter and laughter.

He groaned with a mix of exhaustion and guilt. Though he was unsure as to why exactly, but there was a weight in his chest, like a tide dragging him down. Too many things all at once. Everything coming all at once. He had mixed up memories of the previous night, like a bad dream scattered about the edges of his conscious. Things Alice had said, old grey feelings she'd raked up. But William, most of all, embarking on perhaps the biggest journey of his life – there were things he would like to say to him, share, yet he saw no clear way that could happen.

In the corner of the room, three squirming beings were rolling around in their basket, and he glanced up to the clock – they'd need the litter tray and breakfast; their mother had gone out in the early hours and she'd need food too. Odd to think of himself as caring for them now, he'd never had to care about anyone or anything, the people he worked for were simply clients, not family, as much as he might have liked to pretend otherwise at one time or another.

He lifted Elsie's arm and manoeuvred onto his back; she moved with him, as easy as that, and he wrapped his arms around her, kissing the top of her head. Five minutes more wouldn't hurt.

Perhaps he should speak to Alice about it, this wedding business. But then, that might be a mistake. A definite mistake. He needed to distance himself from her altogether.

"Christ…" he breathed, rubbing a hand over his face and breathing deeply.

"Mmm… are you ill?" She rubbed her hand over his belly, "Do you feel sick?"

"Thought you were asleep," he squeezed her shoulder.

"Waking slowly. What time is it?"

"Just gone eleven."

"Oh… I want to still sleep."

"Then still sleep," he kissed her head again. "Happy New Year to you," he whispered.

She smiled, holding him tighter, "Happy New Year to you, darling."

"What would you like to do today – was it just lie here? That's what you said."

"Maybe." She pushed herself up, looking at him, "Hi."

"Hello."

"I need to pee and rinse my face, I don't think I took my make-up off and I feel wretched."

"You don't look wretched. Shall I go make some tea? Need to sort those little mites out too."

"Tea would be lovely," she climbed out of bed, stretching her body. "Lord I ache. My entire body aches."

"Perhaps those shoes…"

She laughed, "Perhaps," and reached for her dressing gown, slid it around her and bent to stroke the kittens. "Good morning you three, are you hungry?"

"Little doubt of that." Charles sat on the edge of the bed, reaching for his dressing gown and stretching his arm, flexing his stiff fingers.

"You alright?"

"Yeah, just creaky – age, you know." He said, shaking off her concern.

"A-ha."

"Shall I make some toast too?"

"Do you mind?" She headed into the bathroom.

"Course not, cheese on toast? Is that a hangover cure?"

"Ooh yes, and put different types of cheese on it too. All grated together."

"Will do. Won't be long."

* * *

Elsie was sitting cross-legged on the bed playing with the kittens who were struggling to move on the thick quilt.

"You need to put your nails in," she told them, stroking her little finger down the black one's back. It toppled over and she smiled, "Oh dear," tickling its belly instead and under its chin. "You like that, don't you?"

"You're warming to them."

"They're cute right now."

"Do you only keep things around if they're cute?"

She frowned at him, "Course not. What an odd thing to say."

He shrugged, settling back on his pillows, "I feel like a blob this morning." He said, patting his rounded belly, "I ate too much over Christmas."

"Everyone does. Here," she plonked the most energetic of the kittens onto his stomach. "Entertain that one. We should call it 'Socks', it's got great spots of white on each paw."

"So it has. I wonder if it's a boy or a girl."

"We'll let the vets tell us that going on your track record."

"I often get things wrong."

"Charles," she said softly, but there was a hint of something to his voice that caught her attention, something more than just being self deprecating, or a hangover or the new year blues. "Why don't you come to the gym with me later? I can sign you in as a guest."

"What for? I'm not going to do all those classes and things."

"No, but you could join me in the gym – walk on the treadmill as its raining out. Or just use the pool and the sauna and stuff. Just relax. Get us out of the house for a few hours."

He rolled his eyes but agreed anyway, "I guess I could do that. I do like the steam room."

"It'll be quiet, New Year's Day. Then I'll make dinner tonight, you made breakfast come lunch. I'll make one of your favourites."

"That's nice of you."

"I am nice. I keep telling you that." She laid down on the bed, the two kittens playing with her fingers as she dangled them in front of them. "Besides, you seem a little, well, out of sorts, I want to check you're okay."

"Yeah I just…" he sighed again, closing his eyes as he leant his head back on the pillow and stroked the pacified kitten that was stretching on his chest and settling down to sleep. "Just threw me last night. Sorry if I was too pushy, too forward with the whole ring thing. Seems ridiculous now. I didn't mean to bully you."

"No, of course not. It wasn't that, I would never think that. And I think we often give as good as we get, to be honest. I was snappy with you before Christmas when I was busy and worried and you stood right there and took it and were wonderful."

She waited for a response but when none came she pushed on; Charles could be prickly at times and you had to take it gently, tease bits of information from him and she thought she could handle that pretty well by now. She could remember how moody he was some nights in Spain after an exhausting day at work and he could be short with her or sarcastic. Perhaps at one time she'd have been hurt or snapped back and argued with him. Now she felt she knew him well enough to handle it differently.

"You helped me so much last year," she said plainly, "to deal with my family and make steps towards fixing things and I'm not sure I've ever really thanked you for that. But I am grateful, more than I can say. And I love you for that, for caring enough, having the patience with me and the messy business with the farm and everything… just everything. So, I understand you feeling emotional last night, seeing William." She let the words rest for a moment before she continued in a warm tone, "It was nice for me to meet him, to make that connection… Do you want to talk about it?"

He shook his head very slightly, "Not just yet." It was unlike Charles to cry, he never did, it wasn't part of the package, part of the man. It didn't mean he didn't feel, he was just reluctant to share those feelings so openly, it wasn't how he was raised. "It's not you…"

"I know," she squeezed his hand. "I'm gonna shower, then change and we'll go run, or walk, then stretch our bodies in the pool and relax in the Jacuzzi and you'll feel a bit better." She moved, careful not to knock the kittens as she leant up to kiss his mouth, "I am right here, whatever you need."

He gave a slight nod, "Thank you."

* * *

"Don't be so loud," Elsie said a couple of hours later, holding tightly to the handrail as she took the steps down into the Jacuzzi. "I could hear you gabbling on to that man from inside the changing rooms."

"Sorry," he shifted along the plastic seat for her. "I'm old, the hearing's going and we were having a nice chat about Countryfile, thank you very much."

"Lord above," she kissed him quickly. "Countryfile? Whatever next." She settled beside him, "Told you it'd be quiet in here today. What happened upstairs? You managed ten minutes then disappeared."

"As I said, I'm old," he chuckled.

"This is lovely…" she elongated the word. "And you seem happier. Well, more relaxed."

Just her words brought back the uncomfortable stabbing in his chest. He lifted his hand and stretched his fingers.

"You're in pain?"

"It's nothing." He sank his hands beneath the water again. "Quite like it here."

"It's a nice place, isn't it? I don't mind coming, really, good to keep active."

"I might join."

"That's a turn up."

"Call it my resolution. What's yours?"

"Usual. Less wine, less stress, make more money so I can comfortably retire." She stretched out her legs, resting her feet on the seat at the opposite side of the Jacuzzi. "I'm going to close my eyes, if someone gets in then nudge me."

"Will do."

For a while he sat in silence, watching the goings on around him, taking in the details of the club and imagining himself visiting on a more regular basis.

"So, I've been emailing back and forth with this Steven chap."

"Steven?" She said sleepily.

He glanced to her face, turned to the ceiling, eyes closed as she rested. He mirrored her posture, letting his neck fall back, his head rest on the side of the Jacuzzi. He blinked up at the garish blue lights.

"The guy who approached me about working with him."

"Oh yes, butlering training."

He closed his eyes, "Yes, that."

When he didn't say anything more she opened her eyes and turned her head to look at him. "And…? What have the emails said?"

"Oh, so you _are_ interested."

"Of course I'm interested. I was listening."

"Okay."

She nudged his arm with hers, "Charles…"

"That I might, well it seems likely I am, going to go and do some work for him. I need to check Barrow will be alright but it's January and things will be slow, no doubt he'll cope."

"Barrow is Thomas, right?"

He glared at her.

"I just get confused with all this surname business. It seems so impersonal."

"It's the way things are. I think it'll be good, for me to get away and do something new. Challenge myself a bit."

"Get away?"

"It'd be a couple of weeks or so I think, he's still finalising but I might be able to be useful for the entire course."

"I'm sure you'll be very useful but where is it?"

"Brighton I think, be bloody freezing no doubt but still, change of scenery. Get away."

She bit her lip, asking nervously, "From me?"

"I didn't say that."

"No…" She pursed her lips, watching his face for a while, a feeling in her chest she was unaccustomed to. Fear perhaps? A fear that he wanted distance from her for whatever reason. That he might not want her, some day, at some point in the future. She slid her hand down his arm, holding his hand with hers. "I think you'll be very good, training others, passing on all your knowledge. You should write a book."

"Ha, who'd buy that?"

"You've led an interesting life, I'd be interested in it, reading about your travels. There are people out there, lots, who would be very interested in what it's been like to work as a butler for so long."

"Antiquated way of life, that's what they'd think, for toffs."

"Those type of people wouldn't buy it, no, but bugger them. There would be plenty who would. Anyhow, I'm just saying. Just an idea." She rested her head against his arm. "I'll miss you, kinda got used to sharing our home."

He smirked, "Our home."

"What?"

"You still use the first person pronoun, often actually."

"Do I? I'm sorry, I don't mean to. I didn't realise –,"

"Makes me feel bad, truth be known, bit rejected."

"Charles, honestly, that's not the case." She suddenly sat up, looking down at him. "That's made me feel awful."

He looked up at her, eyes wide, hard almost. "Just how it is."

"It's not how it is at all. Honestly, I didn't realise… I'm only human you know, occasionally I make mistakes."

He felt sorry for that, he didn't mean to hurt her, not really. Sometimes, for him, it was easier to attack rather than open up. Easier to defend than share.

"Forget about it," he lifted her hand out of the water and kissed the back of it. "I like the collective pronoun."

" _Our_ home," she stated, "our kittens and our relationship and our future. Is that clear enough?"

He smiled slightly, his heart fluttering, "Yes."

"Good," she settled back down again. "Can't stay here too long, I'll wrinkle up, I don't know about you."

"I'm already wrinkled."

She laughed, "When might the job start?"

"End of January I think, start of Feb, something like that. I'm going to arrange to meet with him this week, when you're back at work, get the fine details."

"Okay…" she cuddled against him, brushed the heel of her foot over his shin. Times like these she often felt outside of herself, like she was watching somebody else try to navigate their way through a relationship. The touch of his skin against hers was familiar, the physical action nothing new, but the emotional impact still touched her. It had been scary at first, she still remembered how terrified she'd been when she realised how deeply she loved him, how she'd almost bolted from the entire thing. And there were still times she was afraid, maybe it was healthy to admit that, nothing had really happened between them but something felt slightly off today. But for the majority of the time she felt safe, that was it, _safe_ with him, cared for and caring for him. She wanted him well, happy. She wanted to crawl into bed beside him at night and feel his skin against hers and just feel fulfilled with that.

"I'll have to take care of the kittens myself," she whispered.

He was surprised by that, "Won't they be gone by then?"

"Eight weeks, I looked it up. That's about 20th February."

"Planning ahead?"

"Mm. Maybe we can give them to people we know."

"If that's what you want."

"I don't know. There might be the slightest possibility I'm changing my mind… Don't you have a comment on that?"

He shrugged, she felt his long legs shift in the bubbly water. "I don't want to be accused of pushing you into something."

"Goodness you're difficult today." She sat up, stretching her back. "I can't work out if it's the late night, too much alcohol or me."

She stood up in the middle of the Jacuzzi and Charles marvelled at how wonderful she looked in her swimsuit, it made him think of being on holiday with her and the thought flitted through his mind of doing it again, going somewhere together in 2017. Maybe even more than once. And he wanted that, in fact, he already looked forward to it.

She climbed out and reached for her towel, drying her face.

"Just feel confused," he mumbled.

"Sorry?"

"Nothing. I said are we going in the steam room now?"

"Lets. Then we'll go home – I promised you dinner."

"Yeah. Looking forward to it."

* * *

Elsie liked to be organised in every aspect of her life; she wasn't much of a cook, but when she did do it she liked to be organised. So, she laid out the vegetables she'd need, the meat was on the chopping board, the casserole dish ready, measuring jug, even the spoons, were all laid out. Charles had told her a few times over the year that her cooking resembled some kind of military procedure, but she'd banished him from the kitchen before and would do it again if need be.

As the day had worn on her energy levels had flagged, especially after she'd had fifteen minutes in the steam room and come out feeling like she'd run a marathon. Maybe she was getting to an age where late night partying didn't suit the body quite so well. The same was true for Charles, he'd dropped to sleep on the sofa but twenty minutes after getting home.

She'd left him there, draped a blanket over his legs and hoped he snore off his odd mood whilst she prepared dinner.

This kind of cooking was quiet, that's how it seemed; a casserole in the oven, dumplings prepared, potatoes mashed and ready to heat through. Everything seemed calm, the house was warm and still, the kittens were plodding about the kitchen finding their feet, tiny nails tapping against the tiles as they investigated and bumped about into the furniture and each other.

Elsie had one eye on them and one on, what she liked to term, 'trash T.V.', as she did the ironing. She poured herself a glass of wine and opened the oven, dropping the dumplings into the sauce to cook. It was a good Sunday, a pleasant Sunday, with no work to do that afternoon, she could potter, and as she did so she found herself enjoying the simplicity of it. An odd feeling, to embrace the kind of domesticity she'd always railed against.

She was surprised when the kitchen door opened, and a blurry eyed Charles came in.

"I thought you were sleeping. I was going to wake you when dinner was almost ready."

Charles almost stumbled over towards the sink.

"You okay?"

"Woke abruptly," he turned on the tap and splashed his face with water. "Some kind of dream I guess."

"You should see this stupidity," she said, indicating the television, "it'd give you nightmares." She took his pale blue shirt from the pile of laundry and stretched it over the ironing board.

"This is one of those ridiculous things you watch, this reality television rubbish?"

"Yes. It passes the time."

"Odd job to choose on New Year's Day, ironing."

"Figured I might as well, back to work and all that. Back to a routine."

"I guess," Charles glanced down to the ginger and black kitten clawing at his sock. He bent and scooped it up, sitting it on his chest. "Hello Munchkin."

"We've been having a nice time of it in here, learning to walk."

"This one is forward, more so than the others."

"Suits Becky then, you might say."

"Dinner smells good."

"Won't be long, half hour, shall we eat in here?"

"Yeah. Fine."

"Here," she handed him his shirts, "perhaps you can hang these up, stop them creasing. Oh and you might ring Ethel, she called about Alfie – think she might want to request your babysitting skills."

They left the television on during dinner, which convinced Elsie that Charles wasn't at all feeling himself, usually this kind of behaviour would have been chastised and banned. There was an old episode of Marple starting and so they followed the case as they ate, chatting briefly during the advertisements.

"This is really good," Charles said, "One of my favourites."

"I know. That's why I made it. I made a banana loaf too, for your breakfast."

He raised his eyebrows, "Nice of you. Do you want some more wine?"

"Please."

Charles refilled their glasses, drinking half of his down in one. "So, looks like I have Alfie tomorrow. Maybe for a couple of days."

"I think you'll have fun."

"Probably, might take him swimming tomorrow. Perhaps do some stuff here, painting or something, I'll have to get supplies."

She smiled, pushing away her empty plate. "Be good for you."

"Oh?"

"I know New Year affects people differently. You've seemed off today, distracted."

Charles put his fork down, one hand reaching for his wine glass.

"It's perfectly normal, I think a lot of people have down time at the start of January. Christmas over and all that –,"

"Stop."

"What?"

"Stop saying… trying to explain how I feel."

She bit her lip, "I just want to help."

"I'm not sure you can."

"What have I done?" She said softly, worry now centring in her chest. "I've upset you. Is it the ring business because you know…" she pressed her hand over his on the table. "You must know how I feel, if I haven't made it clear…" she felt desperate, which again was something she was unaccustomed to; where had all this insecurity come from?

"I saw Alice last night."

She frowned, "Yes, I know, we both did."

He flexed his fingers beneath her hand, "She was the one who told me, you know, about William's engagement and… You know it felt kind of," he pulled his hand free, rubbing it over his face and through his hair. "It feels odd, Elsie, to find my son is getting married. And I catch myself wondering what it would be like if he knew I was his father, if I could be there at the wedding as his father. I could be proud and happy. And you don't have to look at me that way –,"

"I'm not looking anyway…"

"I know it's crazy. I know it. Some silly daydream. But to think of being my age and never, I will never _be_ a father, this is my only chance, or was my only chance. And I would have been good at it, I think, I would have tried to be."

"You would be a wonderful father. You're caring and wise and supportive."

"You're not listening to me."

She closed her mouth, drew her arms around herself as she sank back in her chair to listen.

"It threw me. This is the biggest thing to happen in his life, probably will be until he becomes a father himself, and I can't be part of it and that tears me apart inside. I feel… I feel messed up. And last night…" he glanced to the hand he was having issues with, the one that seemed to be in constant pain. "Last night I was drinking, you were dancing, and we went outside."

"You and…? Oh God, you and Alice?"

He nodded.

She folded her hands together, "Okay."

"And we were talking and she told me about William," he looked up at her. "She told me she'd always love me, kissed me."

Elsie's mouth dropped open, she wasn't sure if she felt rage or complete heartbreak.

"I was under some kind of… I don't know, delusion or –,"

"What kind of kiss?"

"What?"

"What kind of kiss?" She repeated, her voice rigid.

"Just, friendly, polite. How do you want me to describe it?" His voice rose as he spoke, though he wasn't at all angry with her.

"Like did you stick your tongue down her throat or stick anything else _anywhere else_?"

"For Christ's sake Elsie…"

"And what did you say?" She barked, hands flailing, "When she proclaimed this undying love for you."

Charles felt himself shrink before her, shrivel up inside like all hope was drying up and each second pushed Elsie further away from him and what they might have had.

"Charles?"

"I'm only saying all of this because I don't want there to be anything hidden between us, any lies or misunderstandings. If this is going…"

"For fuck's sake Charles!"

"I said I loved her too."

She'd already expected it of course. Already knew it in her heart, maybe she always had, and now it was confirmed and there was a certain sense of justice that she drew from that – she'd been right all along.

She flopped back in her chair, tilted her head to one side, pursed her lips and shrugged. There was a sudden need to scream, or cry, or hurl something at his head, whatever would make the screaming questions in her brain disappear or the stabbing in her chest ebb away.

"Well," she finally breathed, "It's a good job I didn't say yes then, isn't it?"

He went to speak, moved to snatch hold of her arm as she stood but the phone rang in the hall and he listened to it as one might listen to the tolling of a bell. A ticking down to the end.

Elsie was hunched over by the sink, breathing deeply as she watched the running water fill the bowl.

"Answer the phone," she said sharply, her back to him.

She listened to his mumbled words down the hallway, mixed with the sound of the water and her own breathing. Her heartbeat in her head.

"Who was it?" She asked, hands in the water and haphazardly scrubbing at a pan when he stood close behind her.

"Elsie…" he touched her shoulder.

"Don't do that." She put the pan on the side, "Who was on the phone?"

"Some woman," things really couldn't get any worse. "She saw my posters."

She turned to face him, reaching for a towel to dry her hands. "Posters? Do you mean about Kate?"

He nodded, "Wants to come over and see if it's her mother's cat. She's been away over Christmas just got home and… they're coming over."

Elsie's eyes shot to the basket by the radiator where three kittens slept along their mother's belly.

"Oh God," she breathed. "And if it is? If _Kate_ is hers – what then?"

* * *

Elsie hung back when the doorbell rang. She didn't particularly want to speak with anyone let alone strangers who were coming to claim the cat they'd adopted.

There'd been twenty-odd minutes of awkward silence as they'd cleared the kitchen; she'd finished the dishes, he'd put the casserole in the fridge (no doubt he'd be eating it for the next couple of days), both had avoided conversation and she'd stood in the lounge in the dark watching for cars. When the headlights filled the room, and a 4x4 pulled up on her drive, she pressed herself out of sight and simply listened as Charles bid them hello and welcomed them into the house.

"She's been hanging about for a while," she heard him say, standing behind the lounge door to listen to the conversation. "But has pretty much lived here for, probably three weeks or so. I put up posters, well, as you know clearly. When nobody contacted we assumed she was lost."

"Yeah, I live in Somerset, mum comes down for most of December." A woman said, and Elsie closed her eyes as she heard the old woman gush over her cat. "We left Shadow with a neighbour, apparently she escaped and hasn't been seen since."

"I've been out of my mind," the old woman said. "I never knew she was pregnant."

Reluctantly, Elsie left the lounge and headed into the kitchen, adopting a smile but with her arms still folded defensively over her stomach.

"Hello," she said, shaking their hands. "Elsie Hughes."

"Sam, this is my mother Audrey."

"Hello, thank you so much for looking after her," Audrey said, she was sitting in Elsie's chair at the dining table with a content looking Kate, or Shadow, on her knee. "And her babies too, I was just telling your husband, I didn't even know she was pregnant."

"When did she give birth?" Sam asked, bending down to the kittens' basket.

"Christmas Day," Charles replied, his pose similar to Elsie's; arms folded, face sullen.

"That's amazing," Sam laughed. "Bet you weren't expecting that."

"Not at all," Elsie said, watching as Munchkin licked the woman's hand. "Charles thought the cat was a boy to begin with, so, bit of a surprise." She had a sudden flashback of hiding in the downstairs bathroom when Becky shouted her excitement at the unexpected birth.

"My baby," Audrey said, smothering Shadow's head in kisses.

"Bit of a surprise, hey mum. She was heartbroken she might have lost Shadow, now she's got three more to look after."

"You're taking the kittens too?" Elsie suddenly gasped, her hands dropping to her side.

"Well, they need to be with their mother, don't they?"

Quite embarrassingly, and without preamble, Elsie suddenly burst into tears. She covered her face with her hands as she sobbed.

"God I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you," Sam stammered.

Charles instinctively put his arm around Elsie, "We've grown quite attached," he explained.

Elsie shrugged him off, hastily wiping her face with the back of her hand, "I'm sorry. So silly of me, embarrassing. Of course they're yours, of course." She felt her throat close up again; the thought of having to tell Becky no Munchkin would be coming to live with her, or the fact this newly budding family was being taken away from her one piece at a time. She'd been so ridiculously selfish she hadn't even noticed how much it meant.

"We might need to arrange things," Charles started and the sound of his shaky voice made her cry again.

"I'm sorry, I can't," she murmured, "excuse me." She disappeared upstairs leaving the two women red-faced and staring at each other.

Charles cleared his throat and breathed deeply, "Sorry. Bit much, you know, as I say we've grown attached and to not only lose Ka… Shadow, but the kittens too. She's just upset about that."

"I understand," Audrey said, looking to her daughter. "Look, I'm 76, I can't possibly look after three kittens. And my daughter lives so far away, my son wouldn't be of use. Perhaps we might be able to work something out."

Charles nodded hopefully.

"I don't want it to be a burden for you though, after all, they aren't yours. None of this bother should be yours."

"I'll put the kettle on," Charles said, "and we can talk it through."

* * *

Elsie waited until she heard the door close, the engine starting and a car moving off, before she got up from the bed and headed back downstairs.

To her surprise, Charles was holding Kate to his chest, stroking her back with his eyes closed as she nuzzled his cheek.

"What's happening?" She said softly, barefooted upon the tiled floor and shivering slightly.

He tried to smile at her, "We get to keep the kittens," he said, putting Kate down. "And because they need her to feed them we keep her for now. She'll go back to Audrey's in a few weeks, when the vet says the kittens can do without her milk."

She felt her eyes water again but pushed the feeling down into her stomach. Instead she bent to the basket and ran her hand over the backs of the sleeping kittens, the black and white one flopped onto its back as it yawned, its tiny paws sticking up in the air; this seemed to be its favourite pose. Elsie touched the back paw with her little finger.

"My babies," she whispered. "God, I feel so emotional about this, so silly, so stupid of me to care."

"Not at all." He said, watching her, heart breaking for how she must be feeling.

"I let myself care and then get let down," she pushed herself to her feet. "Which is, of course, exactly the reason I stopped. Geoff. Alex. Whatever they did to me I thought I'd finally gotten over it with you."

"Elsie, please, let's talk about this. Let me explain."

"What could you possibly explain?" She shook her head at his stunned silence. "I can't talk to you because I might say things I regret." She opened the fridge door and took out their wine from earlier. "I'm going to take a bath, I need some time just to think and… just to be alone for a moment."

"Alright," he could do that, if that's what she needed. Besides, it gave him time to actually figure out what he was going to say. "Emotional night," he stated.

"You could say that."

* * *

She'd refilled the bathwater twice to keep it warm, had somehow managed to traverse the entire emotional spectrum from raving anger to pooling sobs. She hated Alice. She hated him. He could leave and she'd keep the kittens. She didn't want the kittens without him. She hated herself. Blamed herself. She shouldn't have let him in, shouldn't have opened her heart. She should have been more open hearted, she should have shown him more affection.

 _She wasn't going to let him go without a fight._

The tap upon the door should have startled her but it didn't. She was so accustomed to his presence in the house now that she knew he was there before she even saw him. Though she lifted her head, caught his eye briefly, his questioning gaze.

"You can come in," she said, leaning forward in the bath to put the razor on the side, "though it kinda takes the romance out of things if you come in whilst I'm shaving my legs."

"I wanted to…" he didn't know what to say without sounding condescending – to check she was alright, still breathing, still alive. To talk to her, try and fix things. To just be near her.

He sank to the floor, sat with his back up against the tiles damp from condensation in the room. He felt his shirt soak in seconds.

"What's the iPad for?" He asked, noticing it on the floor beside her empty wine glass.

"I was reading the news, taking my mind off things." She picked it up, "Ended up looking at pictures." She slid her finger across the surface, stretching a picture to fit the screen. "This, hard to believe, is only twenty four hours ago." She showed him a picture of the two of them at Isobel's party. "I look happy, you look…" she looked at the picture, and then across to where Charles was slumped. "Well, I'm not sure how you look. At the time I thought it was happy."

He stared at her, at a loss for words.

"This one," she slid her finger across the screen again without taking her eyes from his. "This was Christmas Day, remember."

"I still have the gold hat."

"I know, I saw it in on the bookshelf in your office the other day." She put the iPad aside again. "You know I told Dad that I wanted to do it every year, have them here for Christmas."

Charles licked his dry lips, opening his throat enough to form a sentence, "What did he say?"

"He said it was a big ask. That you were decent, but that I wouldn't marry you. Seems he was right, wasn't he?" She sat forward again, sliding her hands down her legs.

Charles watched her back curve, thought of how good it felt to rub his fingers along her spine, how silky her skin looked glistening with water. Dainty freckles he would have previously adorned with kisses.

"I don't want this to be over." He said solemnly.

"Neither do I," she looked at him. "But we certainly can't go forward like this, can we. You can't just _make do_."

"I'm not –,"

"Charles," she interrupted, shaking her head, the slightest hint of sarcasm in her voice as she said his name. "It isn't enough to just settle."

"I am not settling," he licked his lips, "I do want you, Elsie."

"I think you _want_ to want me. I think it'd be easier to want to be with me, and maybe you do want that, just maybe not as much as you still want to be with her. You have to deal with that first, I would think."

He opened his mouth again but no words came out.

"I know you love me. Just not as much as you love her. And I can't be second best, I can't be just enough. If we're going to work, to make this last the rest of our lives, married or not, then you need to love me more." She felt her throat close, her voice break, "And I don't think you do."

He leant forward, "You could never be second best."

She twisted her mouth, partly in attempt to stop herself from crying again by squeezing her muscles. "This is ridiculous – I should be the one with cold feet, we both know that! I should be the one making the mistake of screwing some other guy and you forgiving me and me begging and carrying the guilt. That's the way the story should go."

"I never slept with her. I wouldn't."

"No. And maybe that makes it harder. I can see a way to deal with lust; you being in love with someone else your entire life is harder for me to chip away at."

"I do love you."

"I know." She pressed her hands to her knees and sat back, "Will you help me get out? I put oil in the water and it's slippy now."

He got to his feet without a word or a nod and took hold of her hands, pulling her to her feet, holding her steady as she took the towel from the hanger and wrapped it around her body.

"Are you coming back downstairs?" He asked, feeling redundant at the other side of the bathroom.

"No, straight to bed I think."

"I'll make a drink. Bring it up. Camomile?"

"I think a whisky would be better given the present awkwardness. A large one."

"Yeah," he nodded, "you're right." He stopped by the door, eyes fixed on their bed, the sheets still rolled back from that morning as she'd left them. "Shall I… Do you want me to stay in the spare room?"

"Not especially," she said quickly, "unless you want to drive an even bigger wedge between us."

* * *

 **Tuesday 3** **rd** **January**

Charles glanced in his mirror for the fourth time since he'd pulled off the driveway, blinking at the unexpected sunlight. It was January, he expected it to be grey, not that odd light that made him squint and struggle to see the cars ahead on the road.

"Alfie," he said lowly, "please don't kick the back of the seat, okay."

"Yes Mr. Carson," Alfie said, his fingers flicking over the tablet in his hand as he continued to swing his legs.

"Alfie," Charles said again, putting on the handbrake as they came to a red light. He turned to look directly at him, "You're still doing it."

Alife looked up and giggled, "Oh. My legs just keep moving, sorry."

"Perhaps it's the game distracting you. What are you playing?"

"Mario cars," he turned the tablet around but all Charles could see what a black screen. "Mr Carson."

"Yes."

"The lights are on green now."

"Oh goodness," Charles set off again, shaking his head at himself as he drove on. He'd been alone with the kid less than an hour and was already a wreck, how was he going to manage an entire day? "I'm too old for this," He mumbled to himself. "You enjoyed Christmas then, Alfie?"

"Yep. Apart from having to play in my room all the time, Granny said we were too noisy so had to stay there and it's not very big so I couldn't set my trains up."

"You got a train set?"

"Yes," he suddenly put the tablet down. "It's sooooo cool Mr. Carson. There are little houses and things, trees and even a Post Office."

"Wow, that does sound pretty 'cool'."

"But I haven't got to play with it!" He sulked, folding his arms.

"Well, your mum asked if I might be able to watch you a few days before school starts back up, perhaps we could build it over at my house. Is it in boxes?"

Alfie nodded, bouncing in his seat. "That would be great… But you're not keeping it forever, are you?"

Charles laughed, "No, not forever. We could set it up on an old table or something, we'll take a look what's in the garage when we get back."

"Can you swim good?"

"I like to think myself a pretty good swimmer, what about you?"

"I don't like it if I can't touch the bottom."

"Well that's fair enough. And you're pretty tall for your age I think."

"Like you, giant Carson!" Alife suddenly laughed, kicking his legs up again.

Charles couldn't help but laugh along too; that was the joy of being out with children he assumed, they took your mind off whatever bother was currently occupying it. And Lord knows he needed a distraction from dwelling in the dark recesses of his own mind.

It had been a tense couple of days with Elsie, understandably. Currently they were in the silent zone, which was pretty damn awkward when you were the only two people in the house. But she hadn't kicked him out. And they were still sleeping next to each other, not that he was sleeping much, he lay staring at the ceiling for hours listening to her breathing gradually even out as she dropped off. Then he'd wait an eternity it seemed for sleep to claim him also.

Both mornings he'd woken up to find her already gone and that was a stark message in itself without her even saying a word. But they were clinging on, and he still had so much to explain, so much to sort through in his own head.

But, apart from drinking himself into oblivion to forget how fucked up everything was, spending time with a lively bundle of energy and joy was the next best thing.

"Right, looks busy here," Charles said as he navigated the car park. "Looks like it's free parking though, which is one thing."

"You will come on the slides?"

Charles rolled his eyes, "I might just watch."

"But I'm not allowed to go down on my own, I need a sponsible adult."

"Responsible." Charles corrected, pulling the car to a stop. "We'll see." He said, glancing in the mirror to the little boy in the back. He remembered his own parents saying the same phrase to him, time and again, 'we'll see', which usually meant 'no'. "Shall we get you out then and go get changed into our swimming gear?"

"I've got my Batman trunks."

"Nice. Mine are just blue."

"Nice." Alife winked, unhooking his seatbelt.

"Er, wait til I get round there to get you out, car park is busy." He made his way around the car, opening the boot to take out their swimming bags before he helped Alfie out of his seat. "These bloody contraptions are a nightmare," he said, pushing the seat back into place.

"You said a bad word Mr Carson," Alfie sniggered.

"Yes, well, best we forget about that. Don't repeat it." He slammed the car door, "And don't go telling your mother."

"Okay," Alife reached up and slid his tiny hand into Charles' giant paw.

For a second Charles felt out-of-place, he was so unaccustomed to having anyone hold his hand, anyone but Elsie, and Alfie's was so small, his skin so smooth. It was like holding a baby bird in his palm.

He looked up, across the car park to the path; there was a steady stream of adults and children making their way towards the leisure centre. It suddenly dawned on Charles that to anyone looking he would appear to be Alfie's grandpa, and there was nothing odd about that, it was a normal school holiday and he was just another old man bringing the bright spark in his life out for the day.

"Come on," he said, squeezing the little boy's hand. "Let's go have fun."

* * *

The pools were busy, no matter which one they swam to, but clearly Alfie was used to this, he paddled along fairly content, and Charles strode behind him, keeping a sharp eye on him.

When Alife lifted his arm and pointed to a short slide he nodded and smiled, getting closer to him.

"You want to go on that?"

"Can I?"

"Course," Charles said. He would quite happily let him, this wasn't like the big slides people were queuing for, this was a case of some tiles linking one pool to another in a sloping formation. Alfie swam to the edge, hooking his arms over the side and pushing.

"Here, let me help." Charles easily lifted the small boy up and onto the side with one hand. He watched as Alfie scrambled up, his knees knocking against the floor tiles. "You okay?"

"Yep."

"You want me to come with you?"

"Will you catch at the bottom?" Alfie asked, pushing back the wet hair from his face.

"Sure, if you're okay?"

"Yeppy yep," he scooted off along the side of the pool, up the three steps at one end and then disappeared out of site. Charles waded over to the bottom of the slide, watching as other children slid down to waiting parents.

He kept his eyes fixed on the corner of the pool, the slightly humped section which Alfie had gone around to climb into the higher pool and get on the slide. After a good thirty seconds he got worried, it could be no more than a fifteen second gap between the top of the stairs and the slide. He stretched his neck, stood on his tiptoes and scanned the area. Christ if he'd lost him!

He felt his heart thump against his ribcage, his pulse quicken, and a slightly sick feeling in his stomach as his thoughts raced – what if he'd been taken? What if he'd tripped and was drowning? What if he'd wandered off and not got in at the other side after all?

"Mr Carson!" Alfie suddenly shouted from the top, waving his arm.

Charles waved back like a frantic fool.

"Was busy!" The boy said, clambering onto the top of the slide.

Charles nodded, smiling, "Thank you God," he whispered to himself and stood more central as Alfie's skinny legs flew down towards him, his feet walloping Charles in the chest as he landed, laughing joyfully.

"That was good!" He said, bouncing in Charles' arms, "Can I do it again? Let's go!" He pushed himself across the pool, arms flailing as he splashed away.

"I'll come with you this time," Charles said quickly. There was no way he was going through that panic again, no way he'd ever let the kid out of his sight again, ever, not even for a second.

* * *

Thankfully, Charles found an old tube of Deep Heat in the bottom drawer in the kitchen. He removed his pyjama top and did his best to rub it into his back; it smelled like the inside of a hospital corridor but it felt damn good on his aching muscles.

Fun it may well be, but taking care of a six-year-old child was one hell of a task.

After rinsing his hands and checking all the doors were locked, he switched off the lights and made his way up to bed, grimacing as he climbed each and every step.

By the bedroom door he paused, there was the very familiar sound of snuffling and he knew well Elsie was crying. He closed his eyes, torn between wanting to comfort her, hold her, take all the worry and pain away. And just walking away for a moment, giving her time to compose herself.

He decided to go somewhere in between the two and waited a minute or so before easing open the bedroom door.

The lamp by the bed was on low, the light dim and welcoming, and Elsie was lying on her back staring at the ceiling, her cheeks wet from tears. Kate lay asleep beside her, her front legs stretched out over Elsie's stomach and he wondered if the cat could sense the unease in the home, they did say animals had that extra sense.

"Are you alright?" He whispered, angry at himself for not having anything more insightful to say. He knelt on the edge of the bed, keenly aware of the smell of the wretched cream. His thighs complained as he bent over her, "Elsie… let me help. We've avoided talking for a couple of days now but perhaps it's time we did." He reached out a tentative hand to touch her shoulder but stopped himself before he made contact.

"Don't be nice to me," she said, without looking at him. "I want to hate you, that's harder if you're nice to me." She covered her face with her arm to avoid eye-contact, to avoid him seeing her tear splashed skin.

"You go ahead and hate if it helps. Bawl me out. It's better than silence." When she didn't respond he pushed on, moving a little closer to her on the bed. Kate, lying between them, opened one eye and glared at him and he wondered how many other women he could upset. "Darling…" he said tenderly. "It breaks my heart to know I'm the one who's done this, hurt you," he ran his thumb across the palm of her hand, upturned and hanging across her forehead.

She flinched at the touch, "Don't touch me neither." She moved her arm, gazing up at him, "Because then I'll forget that I'm trying to hate you. And I'll remember you're my best friend and I want to turn to you for comfort."

He felt his heart melt; guilt like a serpent whip at his insides. "Elsie," he bent to kiss her head but she turned away, and Kate jumped up and off the bed.

Charles tucked his legs beneath the quilt, staring at her back.

"I had a good day with Alfie," he said, leaning back against his pillows. "It was eye-opening, and it made me think about a lot of things. You. William."

"Her?" She snapped.

"No. Not her." He licked his lips, "The other night, I never finished. I mean, everything happened so fast with the cats and I never really got to explain what I meant."

"What's to explain? You can't stop thinking about another woman."

"That's not the case."

"You told her you loved her."

"I told her I would always love her, there's a difference."

"It seems a pretty fucking subtle difference from where I'm standing Charles," she jerked her chin around to look at him over her shoulder. "But do please explain where the difference lies in your head."

"She's the mother of my son, my first real love, of course I'll always love her. That doesn't mean you…" he reached a hand out to touch her again but her eyes warned him off. "I love you. Right now. And I'll continue to do so. Because you aren't her, not because I'm making some kind of comparison, or making do, whatever you think. That isn't true."

"How can I possibly believe that?" She turned over again to face him. "And what am I meant to do with that? Say thank you very bloody much let's get married now? I can't stop –," she cut herself off with an angry groan. "I can't get out of my head now, I'm consumed by this thought that all the time you've been thinking of her. That you're just waiting for an opportunity for her to say _okay let's make a go of it_ , and then you'll be off and I'll be left nowhere."

"That isn't –,"

"I don't want to hear it. Not right now. I'm angry with you. Let me be angry for a while." She bit her lip, staring at him with watery eyes. He never cried, she'd never seen him cry or really lose control in the way she could. "That doesn't mean I want you to go. God this entire thing has messed everything up, you tell me you're confused, well now I'm bloody well confused too. I don't want you to go, I don't want…" she shook her head, closing her eyes. "And I'm so angry with myself because I can't even be sure now if everything you've told me this past year is true. I'm not sure I know who you are."

He had no response for that. Not right then. Everything she was saying, every word, was committed to his mental list of the things he was doing wrong, the things he had to worry about. He squeezed his hand on top of the sheet, suddenly keenly aware of the niggling pain in his palm.

She breathed deeply, "I'm glad you had a good day with Alfie, I really am. But I'm not quite ready to let you back in yet, I need to deal with what's in my head first, before you fill it with more…" she shrugged. "I don't know."

She turned over again and for a while Charles stared at her back. In the end, he switched off the light and sunk down into his pillows.

His mind was a whirl with questions, half remembered snatched conversations; things he should say, things he would say. But his body was tired, spent from the day's activities.

He remembered Alfie stuffing his shirt into his trousers as he emerged from the changing rooms, grinning as his belt hung loose and Charles bent to fasten it.

" _I like spending time with you Mr Carson_ ," he'd said as Charles had knelt on the damp changing room floor. " _You're a really nice man_."

Charles went to sleep thinking of that, and leaning in towards the warmth of Elsie's body.

* * *

 _I always felt a bit let down how in DA Alice was dead – to me it made things easier because Carson didn't have to deal with his feelings for her in the present day or how that might impact new relationships, which is why, therefore, I kept her alive. I always thought dealing with the spectre of a love that could have been is somehow worse as, nostalgically, that love could be perfect where the reality of relationships are rarely straightforward. x R_


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter 34**

 **Monday 9** **th** **January**

Elsie stepped out of the office, stood for a moment on the balcony, holding onto the cold metal rail and feeling the chill right through to her core. Shivering, she wrapped her cardigan over her chest as she glanced up to the grey sky; a white sun staring back. It was almost two in the afternoon and yet somehow it felt like ten at night. She was tired, but she wasn't entirely certain where that lack of energy came from; the weather, returning to work, or the heaviness that she'd carried with her of late.

Her stomach rumbled as she took the fire escape down to ground level, heels eerily loud against the stairs. She rounded the back of the garage and down the side, heading towards the porch. She paused, hearing voices from inside and stopped, intrigued.

"Is it broken, Mr C?" Alfie asked, and Elsie glanced around the edge of the garage door to see the two knelt together on the floor.

"Should be alright," Charles said, holding up a tiny engine to the light. "I think we can glue it."

"Pritt Stick?"

Charles grinned, "Perhaps superglue."

Alfie bounded to his feet, "Because it's super strong like Superman!" He exclaimed, racing around the edge of the garage.

"Careful boyo, we don't want any other accidents. Shall we try the steam engine again?"

"Yes."

"Let's get this set up then," Charles pushed himself to his feet, fiddling with switches and placing various parts in place.

"Wish I could stay doing this with you, Mr C." Alfie said, "And not go back to boring school, school, school."

"Hmm, I can see where you're coming from. But maybe I could pick you up after school once a week, you could come over and have some train time then whilst your mum is finishing work."

"She's working for your wife, isn't she?" He pointed to the roof, "Up there."

"My girlfriend," Charles said carefully. "Now then, take your position, Captain."

"Yes sir!" Alfie climbed up onto the step stool at one end of the long table that had been covered in the train tracks, donning a cap and blowing on a whistle.

Elsie laughed, she couldn't help it, and both turned to look at her. She covered her mouth, her smile fading as she caught Charles' eyes.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt."

"It's alright." Charles said softly.

"Hello Mrs. C." Alfie waved at her.

"It's Mrs. _H_ ," Charles said, taking off his own hat and feeling rather silly now for wearing it.

"Come on in, you can see we got the steam loco-otive going."

"Locomotive," Charles corrected.

"Low-co-motive," Alfie said slowly, beckoning again.

Elsie stepped in, her arms folded across her stomach, "I came to find my lunch, how come everyone else's sandwich was delivered upstairs?" She positioned herself by the garage window, halfway down the room so she could oversee the entire train track.

"We thought you might come and join us for lunch," Charles said, "Alfie wanted –,"

"I wanted a picnic, and really, well it's about time we got to know each other." Alfie said confidently, his adult like phrasing out-of-place with his squeaky voice. He jumped down from his step stool and marched over to her, holding out his hand. Elsie lifted her hand to his but then he stopped, "Oh wait…" He glanced at Charles and then took a step back, bending forward and waving his arms as he bowed.

Elsie laughed again, "Oh my, did somebody teach you that?"

"We were talking about heroes the other day," Charles said, "and Princes."

"Well," she bowed her head, "Hello Prince Alfie."

"Hello Mrs. H." He vigorously shook her hand, "Will you stay and watch the trains go? We've worked on it for a _year_."

"A week, Alfie, a week, I said it felt like a year."

"Yeppy yep." He returned to his position at the head of the table and picked up his flag.

"Where did you get that?" Elsie asked, amused by the entire scenario.

"Mr. Carson made it for me the other night."

Elsie finally looked at him, "You did?"

Charles nodded, shrugging, "Found some old ties, didn't take long." He offered her a smile and she looked away quickly. She knew he was suffering as well as she, but she was glad of Alfie at this time; the young man had been immeasurably good for him. Perhaps his Grandparents taking a New Year holiday at this point in the year had been something of a blessing after all.

"Right, let's see the trains then so I can go and get my sandwich and back to work."

"Aww, you can't stay with us?" Alfie pleaded.

"Sorry, I have a lot of things to do."

"In your office? Mr. C has a nice office here too, he showed me, I got to sit in his big chair."

"Wow, I didn't think anyone was allowed to sit in that." She smiled.

"I'm special."

Elsie dug her hands into her cardigan pockets, "I think you may be, my dear."

Alfie waved his flag and blew his whistle and Charles set the train going.

* * *

 **Thursday 12** **th** **January**

Another early morning. Waking too early and feeling frustrated over that but the mind does what it does.

Elsie lay for a long time in the still darkness, flat on her back, eyes hot and heavy. Her neck ached and she turned her head towards Charles' side of the bed. He was in a deep sleep, but then he seemed to be struggling to actually get off at night; she often listened to him turning back and forth, sighing, grumbling into his pillow.

Staring at his face in rest, turned off from the worries in the world, made her heart ache. He looked content, warm and handsome. Aging perhaps, greying temples and those messy eyebrows he had, but when she took the time, such as now, to really take in his appearance it made her think how every part fitted, how every part made her stomach flutter, still, a year on. That had never happened before.

Their conversations remained stunted, but at least they were talking now. Mostly because he launched into some monologue about his day with Alfie as they sat down for dinner. And they were eating together, which she saw as necessary as sharing the same bed if they were going to get through this. Funny how she'd never seen herself as the patient, tolerant or forgiving kind. Never before. But now, when confronted with this, there was some hidden depths she'd opened, and there was a kind of soothing in that on its own, that she could be brave when need be, she could be rational and see the bigger picture even when hurting.

And she was still hurting, but that didn't take away from the fact that it seemed to her this relationship was more than a combination of bits and parts; it was more than a forgettable brush of lips with an ex-girlfriend; and even in her angrier moments, she realised she would be foolish to dismiss it all foolishly and walk away.

What would she go back to after all? Being the fast-moving player again? If she ever really was that person, if it wasn't just a lifelong act. That woman had certainly died as her love for Charles had blossomed.

She turned towards him, rested her hand gently on top of his on the bedsheets. How delicate this all was, like being on crushed glass, like waiting for the fall that might never come. He was so poor at communication, she'd read a lot of how he felt from his frowns or heavy sighs, but sometimes, as much as she liked to rail against the expectations of her sex, a woman just needed words.

5:35, she guessed, was a good a time as any to get up. She might as well work early, she was going to Isobel's for dinner and a movie and she was looking forward to that to just get out of the house and back into some kind of routine. Usually, she'd have told her girlfriends everything, even her most embarrassing sexual encounters had been laughed over, but this was kept locked in her heart: the great fear that he might not feel the same. That she might not be enough.

She was showered with ten minutes and dressed in the bathroom, tiptoeing about in the dark as she found her phone and shoes from the bottom shelf of the wardrobe. Charles had mentioned he might meet with this Steven guy but beyond that he'd provided little information on his plans; she hoped it would work out, this new venture, it would do him good to have a new challenge and besides, though she'd never say this anyone, somewhere deep in her mind was the niggling thought that she would resent it if he retired completely whilst she was still working.

By the bed she paused, he was flat on his back which always made him snore and she watched as his lip flickered. In a sudden wave of affection, as pure as the sun coming to warm a new day, she bent and tenderly kissed his forehead. Love was painful at times but God knows it could fix anything. There was not a doubt in her mind that he would forgive her anything; whether she could do the same remained to be seen but she was certainly willing to try.

* * *

"This is the onset of old age, I'm afraid, Charles," the Doctor said, "Essential tremor, would be my guess. As with your father."

"I thought so," Charles leant back awkwardly in the plastic chair, stretching his legs. His mouth felt dry and the nerves in his chest were making rational thought difficult but he wasn't about to show this to Doctor Raschide; they'd known each other for many years and though the Doctor was older than Charles, there was no physician he trusted more.

"I have to cut down on things?"

The Doctor shrugged, putting his pen down, "Usual advice; less alcohol, more exercise. Avoid stress, especially emotional stress."

Charles flinched at that – talk about hitting a nerve.

"Anxiety, smoking, too much caffeine, sudden changes in temperature – all of this can have an effect. You might find, in your line of work, that maintaining a statue-like position for hours is going to be challenge." The Doctor licked his lips as he watched Charles' face; there were times you had to be brutally honest and it was hard. "Fine motor skills could be affected over time, and I mean _over time_ , I'm not talking next week. Shaving, writing, things like that."

"Might it have led to this? My work?"

"Possibly. And, you know, there are other symptoms to watch out for. It might affect your balance over time, maybe your voice, watch for that, keep a record of any changes you notice and we'll meet again in a couple of months and review it. Right now, I'm reluctant to give you drugs, I can give you some exercises." He tapped on his keyboard, "I'll print you a sheet. It won't shorten your lifespan, Charles," he said, staring at the computer screen. "And it shouldn't stop you living life," he glanced over his glasses at him. "I know you, don't revert to some hermit like existence because of it."

Charles rolled his eyes. Oddly, he thought of diving into the ocean with Elsie, catching her body in his arms and carrying her as they waded through the deeper waters. Crossing the river in the winter with her on his back. The sweet weight of her, that joyful feeling of being a couple. Part of something bigger than just Charles Carson. Being Charles Carson and Elsie Hughes.

* * *

He walked home from the surgery, though he'd taken the bus there, lost in his thoughts. By nature, he was a man who liked order to every segment of life, and as such, he had tried to order his thoughts into clear categories. Walking usually gave him the opportunity to do just that.

Being with Alfie had given him some sort of perspective, as tiring as the little mite was, it made him get out of his own head for a while and take a look around. When he was alone again, when the boy had returned to school, he could step back inside his head and regard it more thoughtfully, like a mental checklist.

One: deal with the niggling hand pain. He already had an inkling what it could be but he knew he needed to see the Doctor and get things confirmed. Made official, as it were. Well, he could tick that off now, done, he knew the prognosis and had to damn well just get on with things.

Two: jobs. He felt positive about that too. Discussions with both Barrow and Steven Wright had gone well. He would sell Barrow a fifty percent share in the business, they would be co-owners, take home the same wage and see how things progressed. Charles knew he was getting the better deal; Thomas was young and energetic and eager to push things forward. Charles, though he resented himself for thinking it, wasn't much more than a name now and the weight that name and its prestige carried. Yet there was a glimmer of something new that excited him, that reminded him how he used to feel about work, this training, offering advice to young men wanting to continue the tradition. And even the chance to talk on a business level too, to give his points on that, like his ideas were worth something. It meant a couple of weeks away from home and maybe more travel during the year if it went well; it might not but there again you never knew. It wasn't paying much but that wasn't the driving factor and he found he didn't care. The ego in him was a tiny bit satisfied by the prospect of being useful.

So, two for two he could shut the mental drawer on. He was dealing with them, he knew what he was going to do, they were filed.

Alice. Number three. Floating around at the back of his mind like some ghostly spectre. He'd separated her from William, they needed separate drawers. And he'd gone back and forth and back and forth on the question of his feelings for her. The clearest her could get it was this: he loved her because she was his past, he loved her _in_ the past, he couldn't dismiss that or erase it, it would always exist. But did he want her now, that was the question? And it linked so neatly into another issue that he'd left it for a few days; pondering, wandering his mind.

Four. William. And that was still an unknown too but partly because he wasn't sure of the other person's reaction. Though he'd made some decisions, _of sorts_ , he would definitely meet the boy/man on his own. Just the two of them, which would be a lifetime first. He would talk to him, sound him out, see how it felt. In his greyer moments, he questioned the importance of revealing the secret of his parentage to him; what would really be the point at this late chapter in his life other than to cause issues, potentially break up a family or maybe worse? But the heart has its own selfish reasons and, try as he might, he couldn't escape the fact that he just needed William to know the truth. What that meant, especially in terms of Charles having any kind of father role, seemed unclear and downright ludicrous. But maybe he just had to know, maybe.

And Elsie. He hesitated to label her 'worry number 5' because she was a part of everything.

She'd be upset about his medical condition, fussy, caring, sentimental. And he wouldn't tell her whilst they were still at odds because he didn't want her feelings clouded by misaimed sympathy.

If he took on this new venture and travelled over the country, or maybe further afield, he'd miss her terribly. He couldn't even imagine.

Alice and Elsie. Vanilla and Spice. The question he'd pondered for all of ten seconds – did he want Alice now? In the present day? No, not for one iota of a second. Did he have this feather of a memory of love for her, yes? But she wasn't Elsie, and he kept coming back to that one simple thing – she wasn't Elsie. And, if he was purely honest he loved her more than anyone or anything at any point in his life. She'd questioned that, which seemed downright ridiculous to him at the time, how could she doubt it? But then he often got things wrong, even more often he misread women, so perhaps he could, logically, understand her confusion, her concern. After all, he'd been jealous as hell at thought of her perhaps having lingering feelings for Tom.

And then William, she'd support him whatever he chose to do, she'd made that very clear, and perhaps that was one of the driving forces behind him suddenly feeling brave enough to tackle the issue. For years he'd ignored the fact the boy even existed; travelling the globe and excessive working. He'd stayed away deliberately, and to adhere to Alice's request. He would have done anything for her back then. But times, and situations, change and with Elsie he felt like finally he was part of a family. That somehow gave him the courage and strength to step outside of his comfort zone and deal with this splinter of pain he'd had festering in his heart since William was born.

But really, for Elsie taking on all that mess, all that potential anguish, he wondered of the outcome for them. And he could be a cantankerous old bastard at the best of times, how would he be when their friendship groups were gossiping about his misdemeanour?

Wearily, he unlocked the door and made his way inside their home. There was still some Christmas cake and he reckoned he'd have a slice of that with some cheese and a cup of tea before he got changed and went to meet Steven. He had some invoices to file in the meantime and a dull Thursday morning seemed as good a time as any to fire up the laptop and do a bit of work.

* * *

"Soooo… We got married!" Anna said holding up her hand and flashing her ring.

"What the fuck?" Beryl exclaimed grabbing her hand and pulling it closer to get a better look. "Married?"

"Over the Christmas break when we were away in Vegas; and I know I'm a cliché so don't start. It was a last minute, spontaneous, wonderful thing."

"Congratulations sweetheart," Isobel said getting to her feet and pulling Anna into a hug. "That rather puts things in perspective, doesn't it?" She kissed her cheeks.

"We will have a party and all that, but I kinda wanted to wait until we were all together again to tell you, not do it one by one. It's been torture at work, first thing I wanted to say when I saw _you_ ," she laughed, looking at Elsie.

Whatever funk Elsie had been in for the past thirty seconds she shook from her head, smiled, though it was dead behind the eyes, and got to her feet to hug Anna too. "It best be a bloody good party," Elsie said, suddenly overcome with emotion as she held her young protégée tighter. "I know this means babies now, not running my business for me."

Anna giggled nervously, "Well, John's hardly getting younger and we do want a family."

"No harm in trying neither," Beryl said, searching her fridge for a bottle of something fizzy. "Let's celebrate, toast you."

"I feel sorry for saying that now," Elsie said blushing, "I didn't mean to sound – Goodness, this is a surprise."

"I didn't take offence," Anna laughed, "I know you're teasing. You'll be," she felt her throat tighten as Elsie held her hand. "You know you've been like my… and if I have a baby you'll be there."

Elsie nodded her head, biting down on her bottom lip to keep her emotions inside.

"We just thought, what's the point in waiting, you know?" Anna said, accepting a glass of prosecco from Beryl. "Life's short and it can't be all work and saving money for a nice house, a decent car, good holidays. You've got to sometimes just be spontaneous because it feels right."

Elsie drank half of the glass of wine in one go.

"Absolutely," Isobel smiled warmly, her hand on Anna's back. "And you're in love, why wait?"

"I could have spent forever wondering about what could go wrong," Anna explained, sipping her drink. "Waiting for another relationship to go tits up and it just be me again. But it feels right. God knows I don't know, or understand, everything about him, and he's got a past but then who hasn't? We've all got baggage." She shrugged, "I just wanted it. I just wanted to be Mrs Bates."

"I'm happy for you," Elsie said softly, squeezing Anna's arm. "And I'll organise the party, you know I will. You will let me help?"

"I was hoping you would, in fact, I was kinda hoping that we might use your contacts. That pub we went to for Charles' birthday, it was really nice there."

Elsie nodded, "Of course. I'll dig you the number out tomorrow." She returned to her seat at the dining table, though she felt little like eating any more of the Indian food Beryl had prepared. Her stomach had suddenly shrunk and was squeezing her from the inside out.

"You alright?" Isobel whispered, sitting beside her, her fingers just brushing Elsie's wrist.

Elsie nodded, breaking off a piece of Roti and mopping up her sauce with it. "I really like this dish, Beryl." She said, diverting attention away from herself. "What is it again?"

"Lamb Rogan Josh," Beryl frowned, "I told you that, we're already spoken about it."

"Sorry – my brain isn't here tonight." She took another drink of the prosecco before holding her glass up. "Well, here's to Mrs Bates," she announced and they all crashed glasses together.

"Don't eat too much," Beryl warned as she watched Anna spoon more rice onto her plate. "We've chocolate mint pots for dessert, it's like an ice-cream mousse thing."

"Sounds delicious," Isobel said, "where's the recipe from?"

"From in here," Beryl smiled, tapping the side of her head. "Thought we could eat them as we watch the movie."

"What's this we're watching tonight?" Elsie asked, sitting back in her chair, her head suddenly feeling a little fuzzy – no more wine for her tonight, she was driving home.

"Dreamgirls," Anna said, "my choice, and yes it's a musical and I know how you feel about them Beryl but give it a try. Got Beyoncé in it and her, what's her name, Jennifer… Hudson. That's it."

"I have no idea who that is," Isobel laughed, "I'm only aware of Beyoncé because of that Single Ladies song they play at weddings."

"You need to keep up with things," Beryl said, starting to clear their plates. "That Lemonade album was the middle finger to cheating men everywhere."

"I'll wash!" Elsie suddenly said, getting to her feet. "Then we can see what this film's like."

* * *

"Bloody hell, she's got some lungs on her," Beryl said as Jennifer Hudson strode across the stage to her man, singing in his face. "Not sure he's worth all this energy neither," she added, leaning across to the coffee table to take another mint from the box.

She and Anna were sitting either end of one sofa, whilst Elsie and Isobel shared the other; Isobel sitting upright, legs resting on the footrest. Elsie had hers curled beneath her, a blanket over her which she pulled higher up her body as she listened to the song.

' _And I am tellin' you I'm not goin'_ _  
_ _You're the best man I've ever known_ _  
_ _There's no way I can ever go.'_

She bit so hard on her lip that a dribble of metallic liquid pooled on her tongue. "Ow!" She suddenly snapped, reaching up to cover it with her hand. "Bugger it!"

"What?" Beryl asked, craning her neck back to look at her friend. "What happened?"

"Nothing I…" she suddenly found she didn't have words and instead covered her face, feeling her façade crumble, her mask slip.

Isobel leaned over to rest a hand on her leg and Beryl paused the film.

"I just bit my bloody lip…" Elsie said from behind her hands, eyes scrunched together, tears burning her cheeks. "And we can't keep Kate and we've got these kittens and Charles…" she sobbed; control was lost now and there was no point pretending otherwise. "I've lost Charles."

"What do you mean?" Anna blurted, "I saw him this morning, he brought us all coffees up."

That only seemed to make Elsie cry harder.

Isobel edged closer to her on the sofa, one arm creeping around her back as she leaned into her, pulling her closer. The three women stared at each other as Elsie buried her face against Isobel's chest; Beryl mouthed, "What the hell happened?" The other two shrugged.

"I'll get some Brandy," Beryl said getting to her feet.

"I can't drink," Elsie snuffled, in a very unladylike fashion. "I'm driving."

"You can manage a smidgen," Isobel said, lifting Elsie's chin and Anna thrust tissues into her hand, kneeling before her.

"What's happened?" She said, resting her hand on her boss' knee, "I thought Christmas went well."

Elsie shrugged, simultaneously shaking her head. "I can't do it."

"What can't you do?" Beryl asked, sitting at the other side of her on the sofa and handing the brandies out. "Hmm? What can the wonderful Elsie Hughes not do? What has she ever not been able to do?" She said gently, kindly.

Elsie leaned into her oldest friend, closing her eyes momentarily as her cheek touched Beryl's shoulder. She felt something of the burden of the past few days lightening, simply by giving life to the words she had spinning in her mind. The fears, irrational or not, that kept drip feeding from her brain to her heart.

"I'm not good enough for him."

"Nonsense," Isobel said. "Where have you got that stupidity from?"

"I don't think he really wants me," she looked up to Isobel's face, "not really, not in the deepest part of his heart. I think he still loves somebody else."

"That's so…" Isobel started.

"What shit! He adores you." Beryl swigged back her brandy with one swift flick of her hand. "He's mad for you. How could he possibly love somebody else?"

"He told me." She said plainly, fresh tears on her face. "Or rather, he told me he'd _always_ love her," her voice took on a sarcastic tone as she said it, and she realised she was being cruel with the waggle of her head. "I know, part of me knows I'm being ridiculous because of course you don't just stop, you can't just stop loving sometimes. I know that." She dragged her words out from somewhere raw and unpractised. "But I can't stop thinking about it, I can't stop feeling jealous, like some stupid kid. I've never been jealous."

"Perhaps…" Isobel started, then looked at Anna. "Perhaps you've never cared enough to be jealous."

Elsie looked to each of their faces, feeling her insides crumble, "I loved him. I really, really loved him."

" _Loved_?" Anna said, her knees aching from her crouched position in front of her.

She opened her mouth to speak, desperate to be the old Elsie: unflinching, strong, iron.

"Love him," she said honestly, because she wasn't those things anymore. "I'm like some stupid weak idiot moping around, and I can't get it out of my mind. I keep trying, I don't want to feel this way, driving myself mad with it. I'm singing Sinead O'Connor and crying whilst doing the bloody hoovering."

"You wanna get yourself a cleaner," Beryl quipped and Elsie couldn't help but laugh through her tears.

Isobel rested her hand over Elsie's, "He's not going anywhere, I'm thinking?"

Elsie shook her head, "No. He's not going anywhere, well, not unless he wants to. I don't want him to leave. Does that make me foolish, do you think?" She looked at Beryl, "Do you remember how foolish I was back then, how stupid?"

"Different time darling, very different. That wasn't love. You know that."

Elsie gave the slightest nod of her head, "It hurts more, I want him but I don't want to feel like he's making do with me."

"Why on earth would he be 'making do'?"

"Because I'm no good at this. I've not chased him. I don't do stuff like wives do, like women do – cook for him all the time, spoil him, make a fuss of him. Maybe I should. Make sure he feels taken care of."

"That's silly," Anna said, "and impractical. It's not you. So that's not what he fell in love with. Maybe it's just a rough patch, we all have them."

"And his love for you is not dependent on whether or not you bring him a bacon sandwich on a Sunday morning," Beryl said. "We'd all be stuffed if it was."

Elsie smiled sadly, "He does that for me, often."

"Then you're lucky," Beryl squeezed her friend to her, kissing her head. "And it's about time and you deserve it."

"Maybe," Elsie snuffled again, then breathed deeply. "Sorry. Made a fool of myself."

"No you haven't. Why didn't you call us? You know we would listen, always." Isobel said.

"Because, I feel a failure. I feel like everybody expected it to go wrong, they were just waiting for it."

"Nobody thought that." Isobel said softly, the voice of reason. "Everyone was, is, so happy for you, that you've found someone. Happy for both of you. Don't try to second guess what we're thinking, or what Charles is thinking, just talk to him about it."

She huffed, "That's easier said than done. He's so difficult, to get his inner most emotions out of him is a chore. And every time I see him at the moment I feel this petulant need to argue with him."

"That's just because you've been hurt, it'll pass."

She flopped back on the sofa, "I don't think I can watch anymore movie. My head hurts now."

"Do you want some more chocolate ice cream?" Beryl suggested, elbowing her.

Elsie smiled but shook her head, "I think I might just go home and to bed. I'm sorry for ruining the evening, losing my sanity."

"Oh I wouldn't say that…"

"I can guess where that sentence will end, Beryl."

"That you never had it in the first place?"

"Exactly that." She laughed as her friend hugged her.

* * *

"Thank you for listening to me, as always." Elsie said a little later as Beryl walked her to her car.

"Nonsense."

"Do you think I should just… look I didn't want to say anything in there, I'm embarrassed by it all. Such a mess."

"What is?"

"He proposed, well, in a roundabout way, on Christmas Day. Got me the most stunning ring you've ever seen in real life, the kind on some celebrity's hand in Heat magazine."

"That's amazing," Beryl gushed, then calmed herself. "I guess you said 'no'?"

"I didn't say anything, maybe that's part of the problem. Perhaps he feels rejected because of that and so turned back to what he knew, this obsession with Al…" she stopped herself. "You won't let on to anyone will you, about her?"

Beryl shook her head, "I know how private he is. Where's the ring?"

"My jewellery box. He got upset over me not wearing it, even as dress jewellery, I think that's where this entire thing started if I'm honest. But I'm not sure."

"About marriage?"

"Mm, is it too soon? What if we got married only to get divorced a year later? What if I'm not cut out to be someone's wife and cook and clean for them?"

"There's much more to marriage than that."

"What if I can't do any of the other things neither? I'm so selfish at times Beryl, I know I am. I've been single most of my life, I do what I want when I want it."

"That's rubbish, you're the kindest, most generous soul."

"Yes, but I went home alone every night and pleased myself how I spent my life. Now I think of him all the time and how we work together."

"Well, isn't that good? Doesn't that tell you that it is worth pursuing?"

Elsie bit her lip, shivering in the cold January air. "So, you think I should just say yes then? Set a date?"

"Oh no. Don't put that on me. You need to make that decision, the both of you. All I can say is, I wish Bill still looked at me once a week the way Charles looks at you every time you're together. Don't try and tell me he's not in love with you, forget that Alice bitch. Whatever lingering feelings he had for her are dead, in the past, grey. It's you he's living with and it's you he proposed to and… well, that's all I'm saying." She shrugged, "But if you're not ready you're not ready, and if you don't want it – I'm not going to judge you over that. I love you whatever. And I'll be here whatever. Don't rush it, sort it out in your own head first, hey." She hugged her friend again and kissed her cheek.

"Thank you," Elsie returned the affection, reluctant to let go of it. "I can't believe Anna got married in Vegas."

"I know! Let's hope it's not a Britney-esque mistake!"

* * *

Charles turned the radio on in the kitchen, poured himself a sherry and set out emptying the shopping bags he'd piled on the kitchen table.

"Now then," he said, looking towards the waking kittens. They were livelier these days when he spoke to them; their eyes were open – bright pools of coal staring at him; their ears pricked up more when he entered the room they were in. "We can start thinking of food soon, so, look what I got." He took a box of cat food from one of the bags, "Luxury stuff too, not cheap run-of-the-mill for my babies. And, even better," he tore open a plastic bag, spilling the contents into his hand. "Toys!" He jingled the balls in his hand, knelt on the floor by their basket and rolled the multi-coloured balls across the tiles. "See, fun hey."

The one Elsie had christened 'Socks' rolled onto its back yawning; the blue-grey one poked its head forward letting Charles tickle its chin, and Becky's kitten, Munchkin, launched itself out of the side of the basket and slid on the tiles towards the pink ball.

"Careful there, Munchkin," Charles laughed, stroking its back but leaving it to claw at the ball. "Best get unpacked."

He was knelt by the freezer when Elsie got home, and he automatically glanced to the clock, frowning as she came into the kitchen and threw her car keys on the table.

"You're early," he said, shutting the freezer drawers and getting to his feet.

"Tired," she said, glancing around. "You've been shopping?" She eyed the Sainsbury's bags.

"Thought I might as well, nothing else going on. Do you want some sherry?"

"No, thanks," she slumped into a chair by the dining table, fiddling with the receipts Charles had left there. "You didn't have to do it now."

"Wanted to get it out the way, I don't mind this time of night neither, it's quiet, you can get round easily with the trolley." He put the last of the items away in the cupboard beneath the sink, "We needed plenty too, Domestos and the like. Kittens are a dirty business."

"I would have done it, I was planning on going on Saturday."

"It's done now."

"I'd planned to go, thought I'd have a coffee and a wander around the shops first." She suddenly felt very angry with him for no logical reason. "I'm not completely useless in the female department, you know, I can do the shopping, clean the house…"

"Who said you were?" He flicked the switch on the kettle.

"I can take care of things, just because I've never been a wife or a mother or done those things that people –," she drew in a tight, shaky breath. "Bugger it."

"Elsie, what's wrong? What happened tonight?"

"Nothing," she got to her feet, finally taking off her coat. "Anna got married. Over New Year in some quick, simple ceremony."

"Oh. Wow. That's unexpected."

"Yes."

"And it's upset you…?"

She shrugged, "I honestly don't know how I feel about anything right now. Everything's changing, everything's screwed up." She sighed, leaning against the back of the chair. "Beryl says we should get a cleaner."

He frowned, "Will that fix things?"

"Seems an idea, would be nice, get someone to do it all."

"I'm not so sure," the kettle boiled and he warmed the pot, spooning in tea leaves.

"Why not?"

"Just because, it won't be cheap and it's kind of intrusive, impersonal."

This seemed as good a thing as any to argue with him over so she drove forward, though the idea had seemed of little interest to her when Beryl had first mentioned it. "Well, I'd like one. I'll pay for it. I'm so busy nowadays, it would be a help."

"We share the housework," he took their cups out from the cupboard over his head. "We can manage. They won't do things right, they'll be clumsy, slapdash. You know how I like things."

"You can be so ridiculously old-fashioned and pernickety."

"Yes," he said calmly, "I can. But we still don't need a cleaner, I'll do it, if you're busy."

"And won't you be? Busy, I mean?"

"It just seems a bit silly, a waste. I really don't know why Beryl suggested it."

"Perhaps she wants to give me a bit of a break, a bit of a helping hand."

He looked at her then, realisation suddenly dawning. "Did you…" he sighed, "Okay, so I'm guessing I'm the bad guy now? That your friends all hate me?"

She looked away, watched the kittens rolling over each other in their basket, their legs sticking up in the air, biting the ends of their own tails.

"I'll look for companies tomorrow, get some prices."

He slammed his hand on the side, "We aren't getting a cleaner! You're angry with me then be angry, shout at me, hurl abuse, whatever. Stop hiding from me, Elsie."

"Are you joking? Me hiding? You're the one who keeps secrets, sneaking about. I don't even know where you are during the day, what you're doing, who you're with. And do you know what I really, _really_ hate? The fact that I _need_ to know who you're with – that you've made me that person."

"I went to the Doctors, this morning, for a check-up. I walked home, I had some fruit cake and did the books. Then I met with Steven and, lucky you, I'm out your hair next week – off to Brighton to no doubt make a fool of myself down there. Happy?" He poured their tea. "And then… Then I went to see Alice."

She felt like she'd been hit square in the chest, and just as she was feeling the slightest sense of guilt and was going to ask him about his new job. "What?"

"I said I went to see Alice. I needed to ask her a few things, sort out a few things."

She stared at him for a long time, "I can't believe –,"

"Don't jump to conclusions, don't stop grasping at straws."

"What do you expect me to do when you tell me nothing?"

"You're not talking to me, it's been like living with a stranger," he paused, he really didn't want to argue with her, nothing could be further from what he wanted. "Elsie, _I_ needed to see her, I needed to sort things out for _me_. That's all."

She so wanted to believe it was innocent, but that awful old thing called jealousy just wouldn't quite leave her alone. She remembered the state she got into earlier that evening, the things she'd said.

"Why am I not enough?"

He was confused at that, "What?"

"I'm not enough. None of this is."

"Elsie…"

She held a hand up to stop him talking, rubbed her forehead. "I'm so tired, my head's spinning and… and I can't find the words to even begin to –,"

"Here," he handed her mug across. "Go to bed, close your eyes, shift the headache. Maybe we can try and talk without shouting at each other when you wake up tomorrow."

She took the mug, and for the briefest of seconds his fingers brushed hers and she knew he'd reacted to it as she had. Another time she would have just held him, kissed him, taken him to bed.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I didn't mean to come home and snap at you."

His shoulders sagged, "Thank you."

"That doesn't mean I'm happy with you, or that I agree with how you've handled this. Again." She turned away, putting the mug down. "Didn't it occur to you that seeing her again without my knowing would upset me even more?"

He looked down as a pink ball hit his foot, and two of the kittens chased after it, battering his socks with their claws as they played. He picked them up, one in each hand.

"I never thought, for one second, that I would have the slightest interest in taking care of an animal, let alone four. That I'd feel sad to lose one or spend evenings Googling 'kittens' to make sure they're getting the best care."

"Of course you would," she said, sitting down at the table. "Because you do everything properly, so of course you'd read about them, buy them the best." She fiddled with her mug, "That's not answering my question."

He carried the wriggling kittens to her, and she softened as they got close, as he set them down in her lap and the two folded together like melting cotton wool. She tickled their bellies; they seemed to prefer it when Elsie did that, perhaps she was gentler, Charles' fingers must've seemed like tree trunks to them.

"This is trying to distract me."

"Do you think I'd hurt them?" He asked, looking down at her.

"Course not, no."

"Then why on earth would you think that I would do anything, ever, to hurt you?"

She appreciated his point but not the delivery. She set the kittens down on the floor and let them return to their playing.

"And yet you are. You remember how jealous you were over Tom, how I had to keep constantly reassuring you?"

"Course I remember. And it's different."

"How? We've both had sex with them, we both still see them."

"You didn't love him like I –,"

"There!" She smashed her hand on the table, "There you see, you can't stop. She's like this wonderful enigma to you, this dream you've created in your head of what it might be like to be married and have children and live some perfect fucking life with this homemaker type."

"You're guessing how I feel. Putting words in my mouth."

"Then tell me! Explain, make me stop guessing or making up scenarios about what you've been doing this afternoon."

"I wanted William's address. Right! I wanted my son's address and it was the hardest thing I've had to do getting that from her."

She wasn't expecting that. She felt so far away from him at the moment, detached from what was going on in his life – she wasn't sure if that was her fault or his or both of theirs.

"Did you get it?" She finally asked, voice raspy.

He shook his head, his hand gripping the back of a chair to keep himself upright. "We argued. She wouldn't… She doesn't want me to upset the equilibrium, you see."

"I can't say I'm surprised."

"Kept asking me what good it would do now, and I don't know, Elsie. I really don't know. But I can't take my mind from it – and now this…" he glanced at his hand.

"What? Now with what?"

He closed his eyes, "Everything, all at once. I need to try and tell him, pass things on. Do I sound foolish?"

She regarded him for a moment, his sloping shoulders and weary face. "Perhaps then," she said softly, pressing her hand to his back, "you should wait until you feel more settled. Until you've done this talk, this job, or until Kate has gone and we're settled, until we're okay…"

"Will we be okay?" He asked, turning his face close to hers.

She swallowed, narrowed her eyes just slightly, "I hope so."

"I need to do it, I don't think I can settle until I have."

She moved her hand, "Well, that's your choice."

"I'm going to try again tomorrow, dig around, see if I can find out some other way."

"You know, I will go with you…" She felt like crying, though she was unsure as to exactly why.

He gave the slightest smile, a definite nod of his head. "I know. But I need to go alone. Don't worry, I won't throw myself in the river if it all comes crashing down on me. I'll be home tomorrow, as usual, trying to make things okay."

* * *

 **Friday 13** **th** **January**

The irony of the date wasn't lost on Charles, and, coupled with his current unsettled state of mind, perhaps Elsie had been right suggesting he should postpone this visit. Yet he'd never been a superstitious man and he wasn't about to let fear dictate his actions. He had to do this, once and for all, however the pieces might fall.

Up and about even before Elsie, he'd spent the early morning on the internet searching William Grigg and, once he was certain he'd got the right one in the right area, he'd dialled the number and waited nervously for an answer. He hated phone conversations at the best of times, they made him feel awkward and off-centre. He stood in the kitchen with his free hand in his pocket, watching birds pick at the icy grass outside and by the French doors the kittens roll languorously in their basket.

When the answer came, he'd found his mind blank; it was William, and he hadn't realised until that moment how much part of him had hoped there'd be no answer so he didn't have to see this thing through.

But he was on his way now. A few mumbled words about being in Leeds and meeting for lunch and things were arranged. He could have taken the train but it wasn't a long drive down to Leeds and besides, he felt he needed the space, and something to occupy his mind.

"So, I'm off," he'd said to Elsie as he stood by the front door, trussed up in coat and scarf. "Not sure what time I'll get back but shouldn't be late."

She came out from the kitchen with a slice of toast in her hand, marmalade stuck to her little finger as she chewed.

"You'll check on them, won't you?" He said, then felt foolish for asking; he didn't want her to think that he thought her useless – God, how complicated things could be. "I didn't mean to suggest–,"

"Yes, I'll check on them, several times." She licked the marmalade from her finger; it was tart and made her teeth tingle. "Call me, yes, when you set back off, just so I know you're… Well, that you're alright."

He gave a short nod, "Sure," there was no space for sentimentality this morning, otherwise he'd never get through it.

He left without kissing her goodbye and then regretted it twenty minutes later when he was on the motorway and it was too late to go back and rectify the mistake. Why it mattered more that morning he wasn't sure, after all, he hadn't kissed her since January 1st. This led to him musing on things as he drove; remembering the first time he'd kissed her, with aching knees and a creaking back as he'd knelt on the kitchen floor. The cacophony of noise and celebration around them nothing compared to the buzzing in his brain as she'd leaned into him. It was the start of something wonderful, though he'd never dared dream it at the time. Truth be told, as bad as things had been over the past twelve days, he was clinging on to that idea, that you didn't even have to try sometimes and it just worked out. Maybe if he didn't overthink it, if he didn't try too hard to plan it all out like he usually would in uncertain situations, then it might just fall into place.

* * *

The café William had mentioned was on the outskirts of the city, a leafy area where he supposed the young man must be living, surely his work paid well and he, or maybe they – he wasn't even sure if he lived with his fiancée – could afford a decent place.

He'd ordered a strong coffee just to keep him alert, being thirty-five minutes early, and then mused the menu, read the newspaper – anything to keep his mind occupied and stop his hand from shaking. Damn hand. Emotional stress indeed.

He spotted William as he rounded the corner from the fountain and headed down the walkway, shouldering his laptop bag and raising a hand to wave hello. Charles returned the gesture, acutely conscious of the tremble and hiding his hand below the table.

"This is a nice surprise," William said, pulling out one of the chairs across the other side of the small table. "Unexpected."

"Ah, yes, I know." Charles held out a hand to shake William's, and then felt ridiculous for the formality. "Just, I, well as I said, I was in the area today." He hated lying, it wasn't at all in his nature. "Sorry, that's a lie." He glanced to the table, "And now I seem odd." He coughed, reaching for his mug and the cold dregs of coffee. "When I saw you at Izzy's party, it was good, to see you again and I thought it might be nice to catch up."

"Well, that's nice," William said, sliding over a menu. "We have known each other since I was a lanky kid."

Charles smiled, "Yes, I remember." He paused, staring at the handsome young man; this was his son, this was probably the first time they'd been alone together, the closest they'd been. He was trying his hardest not to come across as creepy or different to how he usually was, but his mind was swimming. How the hell did he go about this?

"Shall we order some food? I'm starving. Been at work since 7:30 today."

"Lord, that's excessive. You like it though, your work?"

"Very much. I worked hard enough for it, all those years at University, all those exams!" He laughed. "Mum said you've not been travelling so much; taking a step back?"

"Kind of. In fact, yes, I've just agreed to sign half of the business across to Thomas Barrow – did you ever meet him?"

"No, I don't think so. That sounds a big change."

"Yes, I suppose." He shrugged, "Time though, to make some changes, slow down a bit and enjoy life."

"Are you going away this year?"

"Probably, hopefully."

"With your girlfriend – was it Elsie?"

He nodded, his hand shaking on his knee, "It is yes. And yes, well, we haven't discussed it but I wouldn't want to holiday without her."

William smiled politely, "You will bring her to the wedding, won't you?"

"Yours?" Charles asked, "Sorry, I mean, I didn't think ahead to wonder if I'd be invited."

"Of course you'll get an invite – of course, we're old friends."

"Are we?" Charles blurted and then regretted it, the look on William's face was something caught between surprise and confusion. "Sorry, again. I didn't mean it to sound… Christ, I'm making a bloody mess of this."

William sat back in his chair, his long legs stretching out beneath the table and Charles recognised the move as something he did himself; something to alleviate the ache from his back at being a tall man crouched up in tiny chairs.

"Mr Carson," William said very seriously, "do you think we might walk instead?"

* * *

It was unseasonably warm for January, Charles had his coat open and his gloves tucked into his pocket. They bought takeaway sandwiches from the café and ate them as they walked back down towards the fountain, past it and into the park area.

"Odd to think we're in Leeds," Charles said, "very green here. Very leafy."

"It's why I like it, I don't feel like I'm cramped up in the city. I like the outdoor space." William balled up his empty sandwich bag and dropped it into the bin as they passed one. "Charles," he said cautiously, "you don't mind if I call you that?"

"Course not."

"I'm going to be very straight with you."

Charles felt his throat close up, and he folded over the top of his sandwich bag – he wouldn't eat anymore now. "Okay."

"I was surprised, more than that, to get your call. I know you through my parents and to be honest it was a bit weird to hear from you, and I don't mean anything nasty by that, I don't mean I don't like you or anything."

"It's alright, I understand."

"You see," he sighed heavily, sucking in a long breath and puffing out the air again as they crested the hill. "I like being here, I like being outdoors and walking, time to think about things. I don't think about it very often, hardly at all, sometimes for years."

Charles' mind whirred and he felt his ears burning, yet rational thought wouldn't come and he kept his mouth clamped shut.

"I do know, that might sound weird. I think I've always known, or at least from a young age. Felt a bit different, you know, from the others, just somehow… something… Mum treated me a bit…"

"What are you telling me?" Charles whispered, barely brave enough to even ask.

They stood side-by-side at the top of the hill, a wooden bench in front of them bearing a faded metal plaque 'Granddad' embossed upon it.

"I know Charlie isn't my father. Well, not my biological one." He looked up at Charles, "But he is my Dad, you do get that? He brought me up. Don't take offence, but whoever provided the sperm doesn't really matter, or hasn't mattered for years. He is my Dad."

Charles shook violently, a cold heat sprawling his body, his mouth dry, brain aching.

"Mr Carson, are you alright?" William's hand grasped his upper arm and he held him steady, bringing him around to sit on the bench. "Here, it's Sprite but take a drink anyhow." William unscrewed the cap from the plastic bottle and pushed it into Charles' hands and he took a few short sips, eyes closed as the sugar hit his stomach.

"I was very fond of your mother," he spluttered, "very fond."

"You don't have to explain anything like that…" William said. "Whatever feelings I had over my mum sleeping with somebody else was dealt with a long time ago. Years of confusion and hatred, believe me."

Charles felt like the lowest of the low, he drank more of the fizzy liquid and leant back, tilting his head back as he tried to bring himself back to reality.

"How did you know? I mean for sure?" He finally asked.

William mirrored Charles' position, his legs stuck out in a similar way. "I took a test." William said, "Easy in my position, did it myself, and it came up as negative for Dad."

Charles nodded, "Course you did, because you're smart." He sat forward, elbows resting on his knees, "And me? Did you know it was me?"

"Not for sure. Though you were on my list."

"You had a list?" Charles' head snapped up sharply as he looked to William's face.

William shrugged, eyebrows raised, "Men who mum was friendly with, men who were around at the time."

"This is surreal," Charles said, "And there I was wondering how on earth I was ever going to broach the subject." He licked his lips, a chill wind creeping up over the hill, rustling the crisp packets blowing about freely over the lawn.

"I'm glad I know for sure though," William said, "it puts a ghost to rest I suppose. Though, we should take a test."

"Should we?"

"Again, I don't want to be cruel, but I was born a realist. And my mother…"

"You think there were others…?"

He rolled his eyes and Charles felt very stupid as he looked to his feet again, kicking at a loose pebble by the toe of his shoe.

"Will she be angry, your mother, that I've been to see you?"

"She doesn't have to know, not if you don't want her to. Nobody does. There seems little point at this stage I would think – I'm almost thirty not twelve. Roles are established, families… I don't want to risk it all, you know. Hurting people for no real reason."

"I understand that." He licked his lips, "I'd like to get to know you though, as immature as that sounds, as silly… I know it's late in the game, but I would like to have some contact with you. Even just a little. You think that would at all be possible?"

"Probably," William nodded, "if we give it time and just, well, just see I guess. No point being all over-the-top about it, we're English after all, best be practical."

They both laughed.

"I might," Charles started, then shook his head as if considering his words carefully. "I might still tell her, Alice, that we've met. Just to be fair. So she knows that you know."

"If that's what you want. She does know I know, in a way, not about you of course, but she knows I know Charlie isn't my father."

He almost fell off the seat, and the world seemed to spin the opposite way around. "Excuse me? She knows you took a test?"

"Of course. She's known for years."

* * *

 _Thank you for the messages of support, it is much appreciated and keeps me going! xx_


	35. Chapter 35

**Chapter 35**

 _They say true love's the greatest weapon_

 _To win the war caused by pain_

 _But every diamond has imperfections_

 _But my love's too pure to watch it chip away_

 _Nothing real can be threatened_

 _True love breathes salvation back into me_

 _With every tear came redemption_

 _And my torturer became my remedy_

 **Friday 13** **th** **January**

It was raining heavily when Charles got home, and as he ran the short distance from car to porch he still managed to get drenched. A fitting end to his day, he thought.

Elsie was in the kitchen listening to the news and chopping vegetables; she was so engrossed with arguing with the radio that she didn't notice him come in and for a few seconds he managed to stand unseen by the door and watch her. This was home. This was comfort.

She jumped when she saw him; dropping the knife and simultaneously searching for the remote to mute the television.

"Where have you been?" She demanded, visibly shaken. "I've called and called you since about 3:00."

Charles' hand automatically went to his jacket pocket and he dug out his phone, "Sorry, left it on silent. Forgot."

"Forgot? I thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere!"

He smiled at that, shaking his head, "And yet, you prepared dinner?"

"Well…" she flicked a hand towards her preparation, "I didn't want the detectives to starve when they came over."

He shook his head, and she noticed the glistening droplets of silver in his hair.

She didn't move when he walked towards her, nor when he gathered her in his arms and pressed his chin to her shoulder, cuddling her as close as he could. He smelt of the damp weather and his coat stuck to her bare arm as she lifted her hands to hold him back. She didn't close her eyes or sink into the embrace; in fact she focussed on their reflection in the kitchen window, the darkness of a January evening behind them and Charles' face – eyes screwed tight shut, and a grimace, pain, etched across his features.

"I love you," he said with utter sincerity. "I want you to know… need it… that nobody has ever come close to how I feel for…"

She moved her hand across his back as he spoke, watched his mouth moving. "Why are you telling me now? What happened?"

"I'll tell you," he drew in a tight breath and she thought he was going to cry. "But it's important to me that you know, you believe me. I don't want you to ever wonder or question, to think that I settled." He pushed her back from her, held her by the arms to look into her eyes as he spoke, "Because that's utterly ludicrous. I would never settle; wouldn't I have done it years ago if that was the case? I'm with you because I love you more than anything – but so much is going on, so much has happened…" He shook his head.

"Then tell me, share it with me," she said earnestly. "I want to help, that's what I'm here for." She pulled his hands into hers, "If I'm ever going to be your wife then you must share things with me."

He opened his mouth but choked on the words, "William already knew."

Elsie gasped, her thumb nail nicking his skin as she squeezed his hands tighter.

"Not that it's me, but that it wasn't Charlie. That it could be me…" he shook his head, exasperated, "I was one of many on some bloody list."

"Oh Char –," she started, but then the doorbell rang and she frowned. "Oh shit."

"Who is it?"

She rolled her eyes, "It's been a messy day for me too. I'll explain it all later but we have houseguests for a few days. Ethel." She reluctantly let go of his hands and he wiped at his face with the sleeve of his coat. "Get a drink, a strong one, go tidy yourself up in the bathroom and I'll distract them…"

He followed her into the hall, poured himself a brandy in the darkness of the lounge as he listened to her fussing over the baby and leading them into the kitchen.

"I just started on dinner," she said, "do you like pasta, Alfie?"

"Can I have dinosaur shaped ones?" The little boy said nervously; Charles had known him long enough to notice the shake in his voice – he was upset about something.

"I'll see what I can do," Elsie said, closing the kitchen door after them.

He took the opportunity to nip upstairs and change; brush his hair, rinse his face, before returning down to the now bustling kitchen.

"Mr Carson!" Alfie beamed, his eyes lighting up as he got up from where he knelt on the floor rolling the kittens' toys around. He bounded over to him, which surprised Charles, but nevertheless he hoisted the child into his arms and accepted the hug.

"What's all this then?" He asked, patting Alfie's back and looking from Ethel to Elsie's face.

"Can we see the train?" The boy whispered into Charles' shoulder.

"Maybe after dinner, it smells like Mrs H is making her creamy lemon pasta and you don't want to miss that."

"Never had it before."

"Well, it's good to try new things, see if you like it, if you don't then at least you know." He moved his arm so Alfie leant back and made eye contact. "Sometimes it's good just to know. For the best." He lowered Alfie to the floor, "You're staying?" He asked, noting the suitcase by the door.

"Mummy says we're sleeping at your house."

"Just for a few days," Ethel explained. "We should get settled, I'd like to try and get Charlie to sleep before we eat. Is that okay?"

"Of course it is," Elsie wiped her hands on a towel. "Charles, Ethel's got other things in the car for the baby, the travel cot – could you?"

"Sure, have you got your keys?"

Ethel dug around in her handbag and when she got closer Charles thought how red her eyes were, as if she'd been crying for an eternity. Life never was easy, for anyone.

"In Becky's room," Elsie explained to him and he nodded, feeling childishly happy about the fact she now termed that spare room 'Becky's'. "Right then, shall I show you where you're sleeping?"

* * *

"Why are they here?" Charles whispered, shutting the kitchen door behind him. "And how long for?"

Elsie rolled her eyes, draining the pan of pasta. "Hopefully won't be for long," she put the pan down and glared at him. "I'll make sure it's not for long. Find her somewhere to go if it kills me."

"What happened?"

"Apparently there was an argument, she turned up at work this morning in floods of tears. Alfie broke something, a vase or something, I don't know. And Mr Bryant hit him."

"He what?"

"Now, don't go getting how you can get."

"He's 6 years old. How did he hit him?"

"With his slipper. Alfie was in despair."

"How dare he! Evil old bastard!"

"Well, yes," she couldn't help but smile at Charles' indignation. "And so Ethel argued with him, he told her she was a disgrace, that she couldn't control her children."

"Nonsense. That boy couldn't be any better behaved. He's just a lad having fun, he broke one of the trains the other day – just got excited, running around. He's a lad."

"You've changed your tune. What happened to 'children should be seen and not heard'?"

"Well, things change. I've learned some things, no need to get sentimental about it. And certainly no need to hit him. Ever."

"You might change your mind if we're stuck with them. Can you get the Parmesan from the fridge for me?"

"Sure."

"I lined up a few rental properties for her to look at, said I'd take her tomorrow, would you mind watching Alfie?"

"Course not." He handed her the cheese, watched as she mixed it in with the pasta and broccoli.

"Let's hope he eats the green bits."

"Not been too bad with salad on his sandwiches to be honest."

"You're quite the example."

"Yeah, right," he patted his belly. "I have to go on Monday. Head down to Brighton, I said I'd help set up and to be honest," he sighed heavily. "I thought it might be good for me, get some space, think over things."

She felt a little crestfallen but hid it, "Are you taking the train?"

"Yeah, I'll book some tickets tomorrow. Shouldn't take long."

"Use my account when you log in, you know I get discount."

"I meant the journey, but yes, I will."

She stopped dishing up the food to look at him, "You have my passwords, I think that's the epitome of modern day trust."

"Are you saying you trust me?"

She thought on it, then gave a slight nod, "Always. Even when I'm in my angry, jealous mode."

"You have nothing to ever be jealous over. Ever. Believe me."

She reached to touch his hand where it rested on the counter, "What happened?"

"Odd turn of events," he shook his head, "ended up taking a blood test. William will let me know when the results come in?"

Her mouth fell open, "You mean, you might not even be…?"

The kitchen door opened and Alife sloped in, shyly looking at the floor, and Elsie immediately pulled her hand from Charles'.

"Are you ready to eat?" She asked brightly, "And then I think I have some ice-cream; you could take it out to the trains with you."

He smiled lopsided at her, his fringe in his face, "Thank you Mrs. H."

"You're welcome."

Charles ruffled the boy's hair, "Need to get this trimmed. Pick a seat."

He did as Charles instructed. "I'm scared of it."

"Of what?"

"The hair man.

"Well, no need, I'll go with you. In fact, I need to get mine done too, best to look smart. Maybe we can get it done at the same time."

"Mr Carson?"

"Yes, Alfie?"

"I don't want to go back to the other house. I don't like it much there. I have to be quiet, else I get told off."

"Well, we'll try make sure you don't have to," he patted the boy's hand. "Now, let's try eat some pasta, shall we?"

* * *

Elsie was tucked up in bed by the time Charles came out of the bathroom; he'd left it late to shower, hoping the warm water would soothe and calm his aching body and allow sleep to come early after such an emotionally draining day.

She pushed back the quilt for him, which was a turn up, and surprisingly was lying on her back clearly waiting for him; every other night she'd had her back to him, or turned away as he got in beside her.

"Thought we should talk at least a little before bed," she said, and he nodded, slipped off his dressing gown and got in beside her.

"God it feels good to settle." He closed his eyes, feeling the pressure leave his body, the pillow seemed to rise up and around his head and he focussed on the sound of his own heartbeat pulsing in his ears, the ache of his brain. "What a day. This morning seems an eternity ago."

"What was it like? Seeing him?"

"Odd. Very odd, I was nervous, and I don't often get like that."

"I know," she switched off the lamp sending them into blackness. "And how was he?"

"Oddly calm," he smiled, "role reversal. I think maybe he knew as soon as I called him what it was I was going for. Perhaps he's prepared for years for that kind of conversation –," He was cut off by the screech of a baby and turned his head on the pillow towards hers. "Not the best circumstances for us to do this."

"No," she yawned. "Lots of turn ups today. Were the kittens okay?"

"Socks was fighting with the mouse beneath the kitchen table, got it stuck on his claws so I left him to it. Munchkin was grooming, Blue sleeping, seems a lazy one, always asleep."

"That's cats for you," she yawned again, "I might be part one myself."

He smiled, "I'm glad we're talking again. I've missed talking to you."

"I missed it too," she finally admitted. "We'll try and grab some time, before you go. I feel like there's something… this business with Alice."

"I can't bear to hear her name, not right now."

"Okay…" she licked her lips, listening to baby Charlie bawl his eyes out in the room down the hall. "I'm going to say something…"

"Right?"

"Don't take offence, but it's in my head so I need to say it."

"You can say whatever you need to."

She took a deep breath, "I don't want to feel like you came home to tell me you loved me because you finally cottoned on to the fact that _that_ woman is the most fucking awful bitch of a female you've ever come across in your life."

He actually laughed.

"What's funny? Don't chuckle at me."

"You managed to rush that out in one breath."

"Charles!" She warned.

"Do you really think…" he turned onto his side, "Christ that noise, I can't concentrate."

She mirrored his move, turning onto her side to face him. "Not used to having to put up with young children in the house, are we Mr. Carson."

He reached forward to tenderly brush his knuckles across her cheek, "Elsie…"

"Before you start, you should know by now that I'm not the type of woman to easily fall for charming words and fake sentiments."

"And you should know that I'm not the type of man to give them. Well, not _fake_ sentiments." He breathed deeply, "My love for you was not, and is not, dependant on her. It never will be. If I have to say that a thousand times over and a thousand times over again, then I will." The firmness in his voice shook her.

The crying stopped and Elsie exhaled. Silence. Finally.

Charles' hand slid down her arm, and he left it there, his hand heavy over her wrist. For a long time they lay like that, each lost in their thoughts, until she realised he was asleep and actually, she didn't mind that fact. She snuggled a little closer to him and closed her eyes.

* * *

 **Thursday 19** **th** **January**

"Elsie!" Alfie screamed, his lungs burning. "Elsie! Elsie!"

She rushed downstairs, tying her dressing gown as she did, the towel she had around her damp hair falling to the floor.

"What's happened?" She shouted back.

He met her in the hall, running into her and smashing his face against her stomach. "It wasn't me," he mumbled, "I just came downstairs, it wasn't me."

"What wasn't?" She lifted an arm around him, "Did something get broken?"

"No, it's Blue." He started crying and she felt her stomach lurch but kept her voice as calm as possible.

"What happened to him?" She rubbed his back as he sobbed, "Alfie, tell me, what happened?"

"I just came downstairs and I was standing on the chair to switch the telly on for my cartoons and when I got down I crushed the ball."

"You stood on the kittens' ball?" She clarified.

"It broke. And I tried to say sorry to them and Blue won't move."

Her eyes closed momentarily, "You didn't touch Blue?"

"Nope. I promise, promise I didn't. I just broke the ball and the other ones are moving about and crying for their mummy, like Mr Carson says they do, but Blue isn't moving."

"Alright. Okay. Well, I need to go check on him, so why don't you just sit here," she led him to the bottom of the stairs. "You just sit here and I'll be right back."

She didn't much feel like going in; her head was already telling her what she'd find, try as she might to try and think the best. Not for the first time, she wished Charles was there.

She was used to animal deaths on the farm, had grown up with it, kittens being tossed aside because they were too costly to keep around. But it was different somehow; she had truly grown to care for these unexpected guests.

Kneeling in front of the basket, she felt her tears come as she reached a hand down. Munchkin butted his head up against her palm and licked her fingers.

"You want some breakfast, don't you?" She whispered, throat tight. And then checked on Socks, who was rolling onto his back, waiting for her to tickle his belly; his practiced trick. "Oh dear," she said, her right hand playing with the other two whilst her left lifted Blue's chin – he was dead, that much was clear, and she couldn't help but cry over that fact.

"What's happened?" Ethel said, frantic as she came into the kitchen. "He's not done anything?"

"No," Elsie shook her head, wiping at her face as she got to her feet. "No, he hasn't. Blue has died, must've been in the night." She washed her hands, got a piece of kitchen towel and blew her nose. "I'll have to take them to the vets, find out what it was." She snuffled again, "I need to find a box. We've got a basket thing to transport but if it's an infection… Best put all their things through the wash too, could you explain to Anna? Manage things?"

"Course I can. I'm really sorry."

Elsie shrugged, "Not your fault. Nor Alfie's… oh goodness, we'll have to explain."

"I'll do it." Ethel said, keeping her eyes away from the kittens' basket. "And there are some boxes up in the office from the deliveries yesterday, let me get dressed and I'll go get one."

"No, it's fine, I will. You see to Alfie, put him the cartoons on in the lounge or something. He has school and… poor thing, finding him."

"I'll go speak to him. School will be good, keeps his mind off it. I guess it happens, does it?"

"Sometimes." She sighed, "I'll go find a box. Then ring the vets. Bloody hell, what a start to the day."

"Maybe ring Charles too?"

"Yes," Elsie nodded, "Yes, I will."

* * *

Elsie turned in her chair, crossing her legs as she gazed out of her office window. Beyond, the sky was white, pale, and clouded with ghosts.

She listened to the ringtone, monotonous and cold, and closed her eyes as she waited. She quickly opened them again when one of the kittens cried and anxiously sat forward, almost falling to her knees by the basket. Socks pawed at her hand, nibbling on her finger and she smiled.

"Hey baby, you're doing okay, aren't you?" She said gently, moving onto her bottom and sticking her legs out in front of her. It seemed a bit of a wrench to leave them in the house alone for the day when neither she nor Charles were home. She didn't think she'd cope if she got home and another –

"Hello," Charles' voice was breathless. "Sorry, wanted to get to a quiet spot before I answered."

"That's alright." She leant back against her desk, still stroking Socks. "How's it going?"

"Good, we've got what they call a 'workshop' today, I thought I might have to wear overhauls." He laughed. "Surprising, how many attended."

"It isn't. You sound different, well, brighter. More like you actually."

"That's nice…" his voice trailed off and she wondered where he was, what he was looking at.

"You've not heard anything from…?"

"No, not yet." He said quickly.

"Are you near the sea?"

"Hotel overlooks it."

"Did I ask you that already?"

"Maybe, other day."

"Sorry," she chewed on her lip.

"It's alright. I guess phone conversations aren't easy."

She smiled, "The word 'stunted' comes to mind."

"Did you call to ask me something?"

"No, I just… just called to see how it was going." She breathed deeply. "Alfie misses you."

"How's the house hunting going?"

"Good, we found one to rent, little house, two bedrooms; will be enough for now. Needs decorating though so I said she could stay until it's done."

"Florence Nightingale," He chuckled. "And you, are you er, missing me?"

"I miss somebody locking up at night." She wanted to add, 'making me feel safe', but for whatever reason she couldn't let the words leave her mind.

"That's fair enough. I miss our bed, this hotel one is too hard. _And_ … you have called me in the middle of the day – so I'm going to take from that that you miss me too."

" _Oh really_?"

He laughed again, "Shall I call you tonight?"

"Of course, when you're done with work."

"Alright, bye."

"Bye," She pushed herself to her feet; noticing Anna at the door she waved her in.

"The reports you wanted," Anna explained, slipping a pile of folders onto Elsie's table. "How you doing?"

"I can't do it," Elsie said, putting the phone down.

"Can't do what?"

"Thank you for these. We need to start thinking about end of year taxes."

Anna sat across from her. "What can't you do?"

"Tell him over the phone."

"Ah, that was Charles?"

She nodded, "His lunch break – he's full of it, loving this role. Like some kid." She threw her pen down, "I didn't want shoot him down right before he goes back to work."

"So tell him tonight."

"Well, crazily I feel the slightest bit awkward saying 'I let one of our kittens die' over the phone."

"You're hardly to blame."

"No, but it's still not easy to say." She turned in her chair again, staring at the two sleeping in the basket. "I can't concentrate today, no point me being here."

"Go next door then, we can manage. Why not go take a bath or have a nap?"

"I guess…"

"What?" Anna said, eyebrows raised.

"What?

"I know when you're thinking something. What's the plan?"

"I'm not sure if it's selfish or not…"

"Well, tell me, and I'll be the judge."

* * *

Over three hours later Elsie pulled into a service station. The icy rain that had hung around for days had slowly evolved into snow and she slipped as she got out of the car, grabbing onto the bonnet and feeling her heart pound at the snatched movement. She tentatively made her way between vehicles, using them to keep her upright as she blinked into the wisps of snow that clung to her eyelashes.

"Can I help?"

She looked up as a young man in an orange jacket called to her; a snow shovel in one hand, a bucket of grit by his feet.

"Thank you," she shouted back and he made his way to her, holding her arm as he helped her inside. "Never any good on icy surfaces."

"Coming down pretty bad now too; you got far to drive?"

"Brighton," she shook her head at herself as she grabbed hold of the handrail, "pretty stupid decision. Didn't even check the weather."

"They're always bloody wrong." He returned to gritting the steps.

"True. Thanks for help."

"You're welcome."

She'd held out for a services with an M&S, determined to eat something halfway decent with her coffee. The weather had brought customers in and she had to go up to the second level to find a spare seat; these places were always like the inside of a warehouse, a 'cattle shed' Charles would call it.

She bit into her sandwich and took her phone from her pocket dialling his number. He didn't answer, which wasn't surprising, he was probably still working, or socialising. Either way, Charles would think it rude to answer a call.

Sitting there on her own, watching the rest of the world go by, made her reflect on how much she hated being alone. She'd grown used to travelling with him, there was something reassuring about being with him; he made her feel safe.

They'd reached some kind of even keel again over the past few weeks; unfortunately part of her still felt like they were on a delicate surface, like any wrong word could send them hurtling back to furious arguments. And there was so much still unsaid. As if these words, these worries and concerns, were floating around just beneath the ice and she was too scared to chip away at it for what it might release. Those damned floodgates.

She pushed the other half of her sandwich away, suddenly no longer hungry as she painfully remembered why she was driving down to Brighton so late in the afternoon. The feel of that frail body in her hand as she laid it into the box and slipped the lid over the top… She'd told herself to pretend he was asleep then she wouldn't get upset. And she and Ethel had said a prayer with Alfie, he'd insisted as they'd done the same thing at school when the hamster died. It was nice though, in a way.

She finished her coffee and got up, throwing the half a sandwich into the rubbish bin and scanning for the toilet sign. Outside, the snow was coming down ever more heavily and the services were filling up; she best get back on the road or she might end up stranded.

* * *

Charles turned the page on his notes, glancing out over the room as he took a sip of water before beginning on the second section. He was getting better with the projection machine, and confidently pressed the device in his hand, knowing that the right image would be behind him.

"And so we move onto the business side of things," he said. "Because, after all, this is a job and we're about making money." He pressed the button again and looked up towards the back of the room as the door opened; unusual to have late comers.

"And so, erm, the first thing…" he smiled at the woman who had eased open the door and who was now sneaking into an empty chair at the back. She raised her hand just slightly and smiled back and he had to take a few seconds to swallow the lump in her throat. _She'd travelled all the way down here?_

"…The first thing to deal with is spreadsheets. And you can groan now as you turn to page six of your handout," he instructed, sensing a slight shift in his equilibrium: his heart was pounding, his mouth dry. He took another sip of water; _God she looked stunning_. Her hair was slightly wet and she was slowly peeling off layers of outdoor wear – a scarf, gloves, coat, the thick cardigan she wore that he loved; he had one fond memory of her sitting in nothing but that in front of the fire in the lounge.

He swallowed, "I'm no maths genius but I can pretty much make it through balancing the books, earning a decent income and filing my taxes every April. Wherever you start with your business, whatever dreams you have, it's important you keep your feet on the ground and your sensible head on when it comes to money. So, let's start with my tips."

Elsie turned over the spare booklet that was on her desk and ran her hand over the title and Charles' name; she smiled to herself, funnily enough he hadn't put 'Butlering skills' on the front. As he spoke she sat back and listened, it had been a while since she'd really listened to him, they spoke everyday but perhaps being close to somebody all the time actually created more distance between you. You stop paying close attention. His voice easily filled the room, his presence drew your eyes, he was commanding, professional, gentle, reassuring. Though the subject matter of spreadsheets and taxes wasn't the most exciting his delivery was perfect and she felt proud of him. Her eyes took in every detail of his posture, at the way his hands rested on the lectern; his fingers flexed against the wood and she felt her stomach flip, warmth between her legs; she'd missed his hands on her body.

The reality of why she'd gone down there returned and she grimaced at the thought of it and, once again, felt her eyes prick with tears. She took out her phone and discreetly typed a message to Anna: _Arrived safely, though it's snowing heavily here, how about there? How are the kittens? Please say they're happy! Xx_ She sent the message and sat back again as Charles seemed to be wrapping up this section of his talk.

"Can I thank Mr. Carson for joining up this afternoon," a younger gentleman said, joining Charles on stage. "We're incredibly lucky to have had someone of his knowledge and stature within the industry joining us this week." There was a round of applause and Charles stepped down, shaking a few hands but heading directly to the back of the room.

Elsie quickly got to her feet, gathered her things in her arms and then he was there, smiling and leaning in to kiss her cheek. "Let me help," he whispered and took her coat from her.

She followed him out of the hall and into the empty corridor and he turned and hugged her properly, "What are you doing here? And why didn't you say?" He asked, his words mumbled into her hair.

She was crushed up against him, her handbag between them, her cardigan hanging off her arm, and she started to cry. The smell of him, the warmth, the great barrel of a chest against her face – she pressed herself against him, as uncomfortable as it was, and cried.

"Elsie?" he glanced down at her but she was pressing so tightly against him that he couldn't see her face, only feel the shaking of her shoulders, the muffled sobs. "Darling what's wrong, what's happened? Is this about us? Because things are getting better I think, we're getting… it's thawing," he tried to chuckle, to lighten the mood.

"It's not that," she said, feeling ridiculous for losing all sense of decorum in a space in which anyone could suddenly emerge into. "It's not us."

"What then?" She finally let him move her hair back from her face, and his thumbs moved over her cheeks, rubbing her tears into his skin and hers. "Tell me, what's happened?"

"Blue died," she scrunched up her face, "Alfie found him this morning, dead in the basket."

"Oh God, why didn't you say when we spoke earlier?"

She shrugged, "I couldn't say it over the phone. The vet said it was his heart, he must have been born with an issue… I feel so silly getting so upset, I saw countless animals die on the farm growing up but this – it mattered more somehow."

"Course. Our first go at taking care of something together."

"I feel I let you down. He didn't die when you were there."

"That's silly," he shook his head, "it could happen to either of us at any time." He rubbed her back, kissed the top of her head, "Poor thing. How are the other two?"

"The vet checked them over, he said they seem fine. I asked Anna to take care of them, I know Ethel's there too but she's got the kids and –," she took a deep breath. "I didn't know what to do, I felt selfish leaving them but I needed to see you." She looked up at him, "Not just about the kitten. Things are unsettled between us and I don't like it."

For the first time Charles glanced down the corridor but there was nobody around. "Come on, let's go to my room. People will be coming out soon. Did you have a case or anything?"

"Overnight bag in the car."

"You're only staying overnight?"

"I wasn't thinking straight; I threw some things in a bag and drove. I haven't brought a clean bra, only the one I'm wearing."

He smiled, "I hardly think that's a priority."

"It's snowing really badly, I don't think I'll be driving anywhere tomorrow."

"Good," his hand rested on her shoulder. "Be nice to have some time together. Time to talk."

She snuffled, searching in her bag for a tissue, "I look a mess."

"No, you don't." He took her arm and led her down towards the elevator. "I'll take you to my room before I get your bag. Sorry about the hotel."

"Why?"

"It's not extravagant…"

"That doesn't matter. I think the guy on reception was a little surprised when I asked where your conference was – there are no women on it?"

"Unsurprisingly, no."

"There should be more female butlers," she said, getting into the lift and he laughed.

"The outfit wouldn't work on them."

"It might. I mean, not yours, because it's too big."

He laughed again, "You've been here less than an hour and already brightened up proceedings."

She rolled her eyes, "Bringing news of our kitten's death? Yeah, I'm a regular joy spreader."

He put his arm around her again, "Be alright. All of it."

* * *

When Charles got back to the room he was frozen and covered in snow. Elsie was sitting on the edge of the bed, still with her shoes on, and staring at the rather bland picture of a spring field stuck on the wall.

"Okay," he said, putting her bag down. "There is absolutely no way anybody is going anywhere tomorrow."

"Is it bad?"

"Dead out there. No traffic. Which puts my second week of this course in jeopardy; a second lot of customers."

"Sorry."

"You can hardly control the weather," he slipped his shoes off. "Need to dry these. Are you alright?"

She nodded, "Just feel a bit foolish, now I'm here."

"Darling, don't. It's wonderful, I'm overjoyed you're here." He knelt in front of her, resting his hands on her knees. "I'm sad about the kitten, of course I am, but I'm happy you're here, that you cared enough."

"I don't want you to ever think I don't," she said quickly.

He smiled and nodded, "Look, there's a thing downstairs tonight, with it being the last night and all. Food. Casual chat. Do you want to come down with me? I'd like to introduce you to people."

"I'm wearing jeans and my hair's flat from the snow."

"So," he reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear, "it's a bunch of wannabe butlers, what are you expecting from them?"

She smiled at that, "Lots of Charles Carsons?"

"Ha!"

"No, you're right, there's only one." She leant forward and kissed him very gently on the lips and they both breathed deeply. It had been a long time. "I'll do my make-up." She said. "And I brought one dress at least, nothing special."

"It'll be fine."

"Will you make me some coffee to wake me up from the drive?"

He nodded, "Sure. And I signed you in as a guest at reception, didn't want them to think I was sneaking some girl in."

" _Girl_ ," she snorted as she got up from the bed. "This is a nice little room."

He shrugged, "Bit old fashioned but comfortable enough."

"Feet hang off?" She asked, tapping the bottom of the bedframe and he rolled his eyes.

"As always."

"Way of life," she took the dress from her bag. "Can I hang this somewhere?"

"I'll do it. You go get ready."

"Thank you. I'm looking forward to meeting this young man you've been working with actually, he convinced you to drop everything and come down here so quickly."

"Nice to feel needed."

* * *

Steven couldn't have been much more than thirty. He was a Londoner, his accent told her that, and he was handsome and extremely slim, polished. If he'd been surprised when Charles escorted Elsie down for pre-dinner drinks he didn't show it, just welcomed her and launched into chatting as if they were best friends. Clearly this was why Charles had struck up a friendship so quickly.

"So, Charles has mentioned you every single time I've met with him," he said, finally standing alone with her whilst Charles went to the bar. "It's really nice to meet you."

"And you, actually. He kept mentioning your name. It all happened so sudden this thing, this venture that he's signed up to."

"I know. I mean we were obviously already running the course but getting him as one of the deliverers was a bonus. Especially meeting him at such a late stage. And we can't pay him much and all that."

"Oh, I don't think he cares one jot for the money; he liked the idea of it."

"That's what I loved about him! He could see what we hope to do, as ludicrous as some people see it but I think there's still clearly a big call for it."

"Well, obviously there is. How many did you have this week?"

"Twenty-one. It's seventeen from Monday for round 2, that is, if it goes ahead."

"It might clear. If not you could reschedule."

"Yeah… the funds though, hiring a hotel. That's why we came down here this time of year; London prices would be impossible." He shook his head, briefly squeezing Elsie's arm. "Anyhow, positives – the fact he might do more, that we can extend the partnership, that's something we didn't expect from him."

"Goodness, I'm sure he will, he said he's loved it. This is all fascinating to me, you know."

"Well, he's a great speaker, really holds the audience."

"I know," she glanced wistfully towards the bar, "I'd forgotten."

"Nice ring by the way," he said, noticing it as she fiddled with the long necklace she wore.

She snatched her hand round, turning it over and looking herself, "Do you know, I'd forgotten I put this on. It was a Christmas gift."

"From the man himself no doubt," he took hold of her hand to admire it. "Looks good. Expensive."

"How do you know that?" She laughed. "You've a good eye?"

"I can spot quality."

"Here we go, three G&Ts," Charles said, returning with the drinks. "What are we discussing?"

"What a wonderful speaker you are," she said.

"And clearly a good shopper too, she just showed me the ring."

Charles looked quickly to her hand; it was on the right, not the left, but it was there and he hadn't even noticed.

"You spotted it," Elsie laughed, blushing. "I didn't flaunt it around."

"He's got an eye for jewellery. We went to a erm, antiques place the other afternoon, and he gravitates to the jewellery section."

"My Dad was in the business, watches were his speciality but he taught me a bit about it."

"You didn't fancy doing it?" Elsie asked.

"This kid's had so many different jobs," Charles interjected. "What he doesn't know about business and promotion isn't worth knowing."

Elsie smiled – it was good to see her man relaxed and happy in what he was doing, to have something of a spark back about him. She leant into his side as he chatted back and forth with Steven, hooking her arm around his. Charles adapted to the move as simply as if it were breathing, moving his glass from one hand to the other and relaxing his elbow.

"It's tourmaline, that's it," Steven suddenly exclaimed. "Pink tourmaline, isn't it?"

"It is," Charles agreed.

"You're an October birth," Steven nodded, appreciatively, "nice work Mr. Carson." He tapped his glass against Charles'.

"Why, thank you."

"I never knew that," Elsie said. "I guessed they were diamonds, I didn't know what the middle… that's even sweeter."

Charles laughed, leaning in and kissing the top of her head.

"Oh you can tell you're still in the new-couple stage," Steven teased, finishing his drink.

"Can you?" Elsie said flamboyantly.

"It's been a year," Charles said, overlapping with her.

"Well, it seems a month. Now, I need to go find this dinner or I'm going to be drunk and either embarrassing myself or asleep. I'll take your glasses as I go. One drink down."

"Alright," Charles laughed, "Not too many drinks for me or I'll be asleep early too, busy week…"

"Week one down Charles too, we gotta celebrate." Steven said as he walked away.

Charles waited until he was sure they were alone before he spoke, "Thank you."

"For?" She said softly.

"Wearing the ring."

"I never said I didn't like it, in fact, I think I told you I loved it." She lifted her hand, "And it does look beautiful. And here, tonight, it can just be a Christmas gift without anyone pushing us to reveal more."

He sighed, "That's still an issue?"

"I didn't mean it like... Look, let's not dwell on it now, it's just nice to be here with you. Chatting. Meeting these people you've spent the week with. They really like you."

"Surprisingly?"

She elbowed him in the side, "Of course not, you're wonderful, you know I think that." She turned into him, one arm still hooked around his. "You know I do. I love you. For everything that you are." She pressed her hands to his chest, "I don't want to keep arguing."

"Me neither…"

"But that doesn't mean we don't still have things to discuss and I _need_ to discuss them…"

"Me too."

"I have questions."

"Me too," he sighed. "Maybe we should mingle for now, drink, eat. Just try and relax. I'd like you to meet people."

She nodded, more than happy to. "I do realise it's been one-sided."

His eyebrows rose, "In what way?"

" _My_ friends we go out with. _My_ house we live in – _ours_ now, I'm just making a point, not saying that's… oh you know what I mean. I don't want you to feel that it's one-sided, if that was an issue, that you have to try harder, put in more… I know I've found it difficult with your friends, with Robert and –,"

He held a hand up to stop her, "You don't have to," he interrupted. "Bit late in the day for us to point out that we're incompatible."

"I didn't say that," she said earnestly, and Charles glanced around quickly. Elsie lowered her voice, "I don't think that. Do you think we're incompatible?"

"Course not. You're perfect for me. You laugh a lot and dance and have fun, you liven up this dull old fool."

She felt her eyes fill with tears, "You're not dull. Nor old. And I'm not sure I'm doing much good for you…"

He held her arm tighter, bringing her closer to his body, "Every day. More than anyone. Ever." He leant in and kissed her again, "Don't cry. We've got plenty to talk about but not here. Not now."

She nodded, wiping her cheek and turning her face away, "Sorry. Emotional today. I need another drink."

"We'll get one, and some food, it's not bad here actually. It'll help."

* * *

There must have been twenty-six people seated around the long dining table, and within the group only one solitary woman – Elsie.

There'd been laughter as they'd gathered in the dining room and Charles had brought her in; for a few seconds she'd felt out of place but then she made a joke out of it and they deliberately sat her in the centre, like some queen.

She felt Charles' hand momentarily slide against her leg beneath the table, and then his touch was gone again and he whispered. "You okay?"

"Yes," she nodded, "I liked the pie."

"Good wasn't it."

"I didn't realise I was so hungry."

"Here we go," Steven sat down beside her. "Another G&T for the lady, beer for the gent."

"Surely it's my turn to go to the bar," Elsie said, taking her drink.

"No way, you're the honorary lady of our group tonight – we serve you, good chance to practise our skills hey!"

"Well, I should hope you're all well trained." She took a sip of her drink, "I know the one doing the training and he's thorough." She giggled as Steven burst into laughter, "I didn't bloody mean it that way and you know."

"None of my business," he teased.

"She always gets herself into things like this," Charles shook his head.

"Oh shut up. Now, I'm interested in this," she sat back, feeling her head spin with the alcohol. "Why did you get into this? Charles said you've done loads of jobs."

"I have," he nodded. "Always on the lookout for something new, interesting, that would make me money. One day I'm in this restaurant kitchen, at the back door trying to talk them into trying this new mirco-herb shit from some company I'm working for. I'm hanging around in the yard having a fag and I end up tuning into the maître d' ripping the shit out of three young lads. Once he'd cleared off I offered them all a smoke and asked them what his problem was and we got into chatting and that's where my idea started. What if we regenerated old jobs, like being a butler? Train men up in something disciplined and old-fashioned that wasn't the army."

"Charles said there's still a huge demand for it."

"There is. Specially abroad. They love all that shit – thinking we all talk with toffy accents and carry silver trays about."

Elsie laughed, "And you keep saying 'we', is there another?"

"My partner," Steven pointed down the table towards a young red-head. "He was working as a waiter, we ended up setting this up instead. It's first real run through, first proper one, everything else has been little tester things really, but this we made money from. A small amount."

"A profit is a profit, you have to start somewhere. I did." She shifted as her dessert was put in front of her and smiled to herself; sticky toffee pudding, Charles would be in seventh heaven.

She watched his face as he took his first bite, complete joy and contentment as the hit of syrupy sweetness lapped his tongue.

"Charles mentioned you were a good businesswoman too," Steven said.

"I guess so."

"He spoke in glowing terms about it, what you do."

She felt rather odd about that – she couldn't recall having similar discussions with her friends about Charles' work. Had she? Maybe when he was in Spain and she missed him…

"Sorry, if I'm being nosey," Steven interrupted her thoughts.

"God no, not at all. It's just boring, talking about me – I mean, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"These men, well, boys really. They seem young most of them – what would make them want to do it? I mean, do they…" she lowered her voice and leaned in closer to him. "Don't take offence at this, but being in this kind of role, do they still see it as a, well, as being a servant, I suppose?"

Steven shrugged, "I'm not sure. Maybe some, but things are very different now to how they were when people first had butlers. I think they see it as being treated respectfully, as being seen as someone with a set of skills, well-honed skills. Hasn't Charles, well, how does he view it?"

"I guess in the same way," she felt her chest warm, the blush creep up her neck, and reached for her drink: had she ever really asked him?

Sitting back, she glanced around the table, it was fascinating really, to think of the man she spent almost all her time with being revered in this way. Not that she was surprised by it, she knew him, and she knew he'd be the best at whatever he did because that's how he was. Dedicated. And thorough, no joke intended.

"Money," Charles whispered by her ear making her jump.

"What?"

"Your pudding's going cold."

"You can have it if you like, I think I need a coffee, too much gin too quickly." She pushed her dish towards him.

"I'm trying to watch my waist, so I won't. Not for aesthetic reasons, but because I need to stay relatively healthy."

"Why did you say money?" She asked, watching him refill their water glasses. "Money for what?"

"They're attracted, many of them, not all, by the money. They think working for a rich family equals money."

She turned in her seat towards him, "You were listening?"

"I can't help but tune into your voice."

She smiled, "Did I say anything embarrassing?"

He shook his head, "Hardly likely."

"I feel sorta bad," she admitted, toying with her teaspoon.

"Why?" He lifted his arm around the back of her chair, his fingers tickling the back of her right shoulder. "What about? Blue?"

"No, well yes, that too. Him too." She closed her eyes momentarily. "But no, I meant, I feel like I've been selfish, I've never discussed this with you. Your work. Not in depth. You know everything about mine."

"I'm better at asking questions."

"Are you?"

"Probably not actually, but we can agree on this – you're a better talker, you find it easy, I'm a better listener."

"I think I'm just selfish." She suddenly covered his hand with hers on the table, "I feel so bad, like I'm only just realising I've treated you so badly this year."

Charles laughed, "Are you fucking kidding me? This has been the most wondrous year of my life. You…." He shook his head. "Nothing selfish about you. Nothing. We work well this way, I don't want you to think badly of yourself, ever."

"You're far too kind, too generous. I think you'd forgive me anything."

He nodded, "I probably would. Let's get some wine."

"I'm already feeling pissed."

"Well, might as well go the whole hog. Won't be any work tomorrow." He went to move his arm but she kept him there. "What?"

"Just. I want to ask, for you, what was it like? I mean, you told me you sort of fell into it after everything went wrong with…her…and you left University. But did you feel that way, about rich families?"

"Maybe, at one point. It's easy to be seduced by it." He leant very close to her, his deep voice even lower than usual as he whispered to her. "I felt seduced by it, travelling and seeing these glorious places. You live in awe-inspiring houses, everything's a rush, a drug. You're on the go 24/7 and you're swept along by it all. Luxury lifestyle, parties, drink, money, that sense of entitlement a lot of these families have. Doesn't matter where in the world, the rich are rich and the poor are poor. I liked it. I liked being on the rich side for a change. Took me some years to realise it was all false. No substance. No heart to it."

She nodded; she'd been seduced in her youth in a different way but nevertheless had come to the same conclusions.

"I had to cut myself out of it. See it as just a job and nothing more. They weren't my family, not even my friends. And when I took time out and returned home to England I realised my real family was scattered now, and I hardly had any friends. Enough to count on one hand. Nothing deeper than that, nobody to truly rely on."

"Robert? I know he and I have had our differences but he does care for you."

"It's different; he has a big family, commitments. I was still the same, fifteen years or so working away and thinking I was some kind of big shot. Then you come home and realise money is nothing if you're alone." He turned his hand over on the table where hers still sat on top of his, "But you. You're worth more than anything."

She folded her fingers around his, keeping her eyes locked on his.

"I know I've hurt you Elsie –,"

"I think I've hurt you too," she interrupted.

He licked his lips, "But whatever torment my heart has been through over the years, or whatever is still to come, you're like a balm. You just need to smile – my remedy."

"Always," she agreed.

The world could have been going crazy around them. Drunken behaviour, loud music, falling snow... what did it matter in that one moment? They were together.

* * *

 _This chapter turned out slightly different than intended. I know there's still lots they need to discuss, rest assured they will, but this chapter got too long for me to put it all in so, you'll have to wait until next time... Thanks for sticking with them xxx_


	36. Chapter 36

" _If we're gonna heal, let it be glorious."_

 **Chapter 36**

 **Friday 20th January**

 _The snow was drifting in the wind, it howled around Elsie's ears and the smattering of white hit her full force in the face as she plodded up the hill. She could feel a thin slick of sweat between her skin and the sweater beneath her waterproof. Exhaustion was taking over._

 _She reached up to once again tug her woolly hat over her ears; it was too small, she couldn't find hers and had borrowed Becky's in a rush._

 _In the distance, she could hear a dog barking and, despite her many years of working on the farm and seeing animals as commodities, she felt a pang of concern for its wellbeing. Her mother waved to her from the top of the hill and she quickened her pace, raising her hand in a return gesture._

 _She hadn't spoken to her and the storm had grown before she could._

 _"Where's the dog?" She called but the wind and snow swallowed her voice. She upped her pace again, her long hair flapping in her face; a whip._

 _Her mother waved again and held out her hand, grasping Elsie's frozen fingertips as she pulled her up the last steps._

 _"Where's the dog? Is it a hunter?" She asked again and her mother turned and pointed. Elsie followed the line of her arm and, across the field, leaning against the fence, she could make out the impressive figure of a man. His broad shoulders served as a resting place for the snow and his wax jacket covered his face. "I can't see," Elsie said, shielding her eyes from the snow, "Mummy, I can't see."_

 _She turned when somebody tugged the hem of her coat, bending and smiling to the little boy who stood before her in his pyjamas, bare feet upon the snow._

 _"Alife, sweetheart, did you come to see the dog?"_

 _Alfie pulled his hand from his pocket, slowly unravelling each finger and thrusting his palm into Elsie's face, "It's dead!"_

She woke with a thud. Frantic. Heart scrambling.

Her body was floating, mind racing, and there was a weight on her chest as if she was being crushed. She grappled about in the dark for the switch on the lamp by the bed, but there wasn't one there. Her heart pounded in her chest, like she was weightless, and her arms wouldn't work.

Her fingers caught hold of the edge of her phone and she pressed that instead, blinking at the sudden light.

"Wha..'ss wrong?" Charles mumbled, his hand falling on her hip. "Elsie?"

"Didn't know where I was," she said, falling back onto her pillow. "Just… didn't know." She sucked in air. "Forgot. And then I…" she closed her eyes, shivering, "I don't know."

He tugged her body back against his momentarily.

"Thought about Blue."

He kissed the back of her head, breathed in the scent of her hair, "I know."

"I don't remember falling asleep."

"We both consumed a fair amount of alcohol last night."

"Is it still night?" she asked, tilting her head up and back towards the window; odd to have it behind them, but then it was rather nice too. She flicked the curtains with her fingers and caught the scent of the sea. "Still dark." She said softly. "And frosty, the pane is damp."

"Mmm," Charles mumbled against her head. "Go back to sleep."

"Something woke me. Made me jump."

"A dream?"

She made a sound in the back of her throat and closed her eyes again.

"Hey. You can tell me anything."

"I know." She moved to sit up, "Just a dream. I need the bathroom."

Charles flopped onto his back, lifted the edge of the curtain with his thumb and gazed out at the sky. It was clear, and the inky blue seemed to stretch on forever.

"Looks nice," he said, rubbing his eyes. "Different." He let the curtain fall back and stretched his legs; it was good having Elsie in the bed with him, but it was still awkward when he was trying to so damned hard to give her space – his legs didn't allow for it.

His eyes had fallen closed again by the time she returned to the bed, and her feet were cold as her toes brushed his legs.

"Sorry," she whispered as his leg involuntarily jerked away.

"S'alright."

She fussed with the bedsheets, tugging on Charles' dressing gown which he laid over the bedclothes to keep them warm.

"You cold?"

"A little," she turned onto her side, her back to him, shuddering just once and pulling his dressing gown high around her shoulders, tucking it beneath her chin.

"What's this dream?"

"Nothing. Being stuck in the snow."

"Fitting," he mumbled, twisting his head towards the bedside clock; the green light cut into his eyeballs: 3:47. He groaned, stretching again, his heel hitting the bottom of the bed. "Ow, shit!"

"You need to ask for a larger bed when you book a room."

"I didn't book it," he turned onto his side, staring at the back of her head, the place where her hair curled on the pillow; delicate strands like candyfloss. He reached a hand across and toyed with the ends, his fingertips caressing it without her even knowing. "Tell me why you were upset."

"I told you," she mumbled into her pillow, though she was wide awake; there was an unsettled feeling in her chest now, that feeling of being lost and alone that she couldn't shake. "I thought of Blue. I dreamt of Alife, he had the dead kitten in his hand."

"Christ," he moved closer to her back, "that's macabre."

She rolled her eyes, "My mind." She swallowed, listening to the sound of his breathing behind her, the warmth of him as his body seemed to melt forward towards hers. "We buried him, at the back of the garden, near the hedgerow, you know where the cherry blossom falls… I mean for real, not the dream."

He nodded.

"I put that pot on top of it, the pretty plant that grows every year – purple flowers… We said a prayer."

"You did?" He'd never known her to be religious.

"Alfie wanted to, said they did it at school when the hamster died."

"What did you say?"

"Nonsense, I don't know. I'm shit at these things."

"I'm sure you weren't, sounds like you handled it well."

"Maybe," she breathed deeply again. "Charles?"

"A-ha."

"Will you hold me?"

"God yes," his hand was instantly on her hip, slipping over her stomach as he moved against her, instinctively kissing the back of her head. "Darling…"

She cut him off, "Don't say nice things."

"Elsie," he smiled, "I love you, of course I'm going to say nice things. I want you to feel better." He kissed her again, comforting her, soothing her.

"I feel alone," she stated, staring into the darkness of the room.

"Why?" His voice was broken; he never wanted that, it hurt him to think it.

"I just do, I've felt alone most of my life."

"I'm right here." He said, in a weak attempt to reassure her, then he re-thought it. "I know what you mean. I've felt it too."

"Like you don't quite fit in?"

"Yes, because there's nobody who understands. Because everyone is married or a parent and happy and fulfilled…"

"Or so it seems."

"Or so it seems," he repeated. "But you don't have to feel that now." He swallowed, feeling nervous, "When I'm with you, I don't feel it. Whole for the first time ever."

"Even when with Alice?"

He understood why she needed to ask that, "I think being with her made me feel even more alone. Sometimes, I often thought there was this gaping blackness inside, and no matter what I did – working endlessly, drink, food, whatever, it would never be filled. Then I met a certain woman," he kissed the back of her neck. "I know I've made mistakes, Elsie…"

"I dreamt of my mother," she said quickly, cutting him off. "It unsettled me, seeing her." Charles remained silent, she very rarely spoke of her mother. "I was a girl again, up on the farm in the snow and my mother was waiting on the hill for me – you know, across from the house, that time you met Becky? She was coming down over the hill."

"I remember it well."

"We climbed it on the day you proposed."

"Yes," he said again, a whisper against the back of her head.

"She held my hand, there was so much snow and she just kept smiling at me, my mother had these pale blue eyes, I always felt like she knew everything about me just by looking at me."

"A bit how I feel when you look at me."

"Dad always says we're alike. I always thought Becky was…" she shrugged, slipping her hand down over his on her stomach. "There was a man."

"Where?"

"In the dream."

"Your father?"

She shook her head, "I couldn't see his face. I think he was a dog."

"What do you mean?"

"There was this barking, in the distance…" she closed her eyes again. "The first time I had sex with Geoff there was his dog, a German Shepherd outside the barn barking incessantly because he'd left it outside."

"Oh… …I get it now. And your mother?"

"I don't know." She said helplessly, "She pointed at him, but the snow was too bad. And then Alfie was there with Blue dead in his pocket." She licked her lips, "Do you think I'm crazy?"

"Course not. I think you drank a lot, and you're emotional, and it was a scary drive here in the bad weather." He squeezed her, "You want to talk about your mother?"

"I don't know why I dreamt of her. She's not even been on my mind. God," she groaned, "I always make such a mess of things."

"No, you don't."

"I don't want to lose you," she gasped, "I feel like I've lost you."

He turned her over, pulling her into his embrace. "You haven't. I'm not going anywhere. I won't leave you. Do you fear that?"

She nodded, "It makes me feel helpless," she hiccupped, trying to talk through her tears. "I don't like it, I hate it. You can't trust anyone because they let you down or use you or… and it's always been just me."

"Because you can rely on you, I get that too. But not now."

"But you let me down."

"I know, I know. And I never meant to. But sometimes Elsie, people are just human and they make mistakes. We can't be perfect. It doesn't mean I don't love you, that I don't want to spend eternity with you," he smiled, trying to hold her face, make her see he meant it. "For me, that gaping loneliness is gone, and… and it hurts me to think for you it isn't. That I'm not enough."

She started crying again, "I never said that. I never said…"

"Shh," he held her tighter, moved onto his back and held her body against his. "Things going on in your mind we need to talk through, both of us have things we need to talk through but rest now. It's 4:00 in the morning. Get a few hours sleep." He rubbed her back, kissed the top of her head, "My darling, try and rest. Let it all go."

* * *

When she woke again, Charles was gone and the bedroom was bright and still. She lay on her back staring at the ceiling. It was a little like being in an igloo; everything was white, eerily so, and so quiet, no birds, no rustling of trees, no traffic. She moved her legs, rustled the bedsheets just to make a noise and hummed to herself.

" _I was following, I was following, I was following_ …" She repeated in a bare whisper of a voice, moving her hand back and forth to watch the play of light upon the ceiling from her ring.

It was unlike her to be so lethargic, so melancholy. She'd been there once, many years ago, when making it to the age of thirty seemed a distant dream because making it through every day was agony. She lived for years with the feeling that she wanted to strip away her own skin and crawl out to the ocean and just disappear. Who would miss her really, if she just ceased to exist?

It had taken a long time for her to shake off that feeling, that shell of a person, and to remember who she was, before men and manipulation and sex and heartbreak.

"… _following the pack all swaddled in their coats, with scarves of red tied round their throats…"_ she sang, stronger this time, amusing herself with the imagery of red scarves against white snow. Perhaps they would go out today and walk a thousand miles holding hands in the world of white.

"You're awake," Charles said, as he came into the bedroom.

"You're dressed?"

He smiled, "You sound disappointed by that."

She moved to sit up, squashing the pillows behind her, "No. Just surprised."

"It's after eleven."

"What?"

"You needed the rest, clearly," he flicked on the kettle. "I'll order room service. Here," he tossed her the menu from the side, "take a look."

"Not sure I'm hungry."

"Just get toast, something at least."

"Where did you go?"

"Quick chat with Steven, we needed to make decisions."

"And?" She rested the menu on her knees.

"He's going to call next week's group and send apologies; we're meant to kick off tomorrow night with the welcome thing and there's no way people will get here."

"What's the news say?"

"Worst snow since 2005. I remember having to walk to my mother's then, it was just below my knees and I took her milk and stuff; ended up staying with her for days just to make sure she kept warm."

"My boiler broke," she said. "I was sleeping under five blankets every night."

"Nobody to keep you warm?" He asked quickly, without thinking, and was then relieved when she laughed.

"Mr. Carson, really," she closed the menu. "Think I'll have a bacon sandwich actually."

"Good choice. Me too."

"And I was dating an Italian guy then, as it happens, hence my recipes."

He raised his eyebrows, "Now that's going to ruin things for me, next time you make that wonderful baked ziti."

She laughed, "Why?"

"Because now in my mind he taught it you whilst naked and flirting in that way Italian men have."

Her laughter grew harder, enough to make her get out of bed and wobble towards the bathroom. "You've made me need to pee," she touched his elbow as she passed him. "And cooking was his best talent, by a long way, believe me…"

He shook his head as he carried their tea to the bedside table, listening to her rinsing her face as he kicked off his shoes and laid on the bed. "I'll ring for breakfast."

"Alright, what's it like out there? Could we go out?"

"Maybe. Oddly enough I didn't pack my wellies."

"Well, me neither," she was standing by the bathroom door patting her face dry. "But I think our walking boots are still in the car."

"Oh yes, so they are."

"In the boot tidy you made me get," she got back into bed. "Remember that?"

"I do. What can I say? I'm a tidy man. Which reminds me," he sipped his tea. "Where are we on this cleaner business?"

"Oh," she stretched her legs out beside his, "you know I only said that to wind you up. I don't really want one, or think we need one, I just wanted to pick a fight with you."

He nodded; this was not new information but good to have it clarified nevertheless.

"Because I could, and I needed to argue with you."

"I know, and I understand."

She fiddled with her teacup, suddenly feeling rather anxious; she felt anxious much of the time at present, like there was something coiled in her lungs stealing her breath. "Did you call for breakfast?"

"I'll do it now."

"Alright. I'm going to give Ethel a ring, I want to see how the kittens are, and Alfie."

Charles chuckled as he dialled for room service, "Loving the snow in our back garden no doubt."

She waited until he'd finished ordering before she rang home, using Facetime so Ethel could show them the kittens snuggled up in their basket against the cold, Kate in there with them.

"If the kitchen is chilly put them in my bedroom, Ethel, yes?"

"Will do. But actually, it's fine in here, really snug."

"I got that underfloor heating put in a while back, seems to work. Where's Alfie?"

"Still in his pyjamas watching cartoons, hang on…" Ethel called her son and Elsie positioned the phone between herself and Charles as they waited for him to appear.

His chubby little hand gripped the screen and it wobbled as he turned it round and blobbed his tongue out when he saw them.

"Mr. C!" he yelled. "It's snowy!"

"I know, here too, I thought you'd be out in it."

"I'm just watching Batman then I will. Mummy says I need to find my wellies out first because they're packed up."

"Don't forget a hat neither, Alfie," Elsie added. "And gloves. Need to stay warm."

"I will Mrs. C. Are you alright?" He asked softly and she smiled and nodded.

"I'm fine sweetheart, are you?"

"Yep, I sat with the babies last night and read them my school book. It was an adventure story."

Elsie gripped Charles' knee and squeezed it.

"That's really nice of you, kiddo," Charles said, "really kind, I bet they liked it. And you know I might have a little something for you when we get home."

"Is it rock? Mrs. C said they have rock in Brighton."

"It isn't, that stuff will cost your mum a fortune in dentist bills. No, think again."

"Mmm…" he rubbed his chin, "a cape?"

"No."

"A new engine?" He suddenly gasped excitedly.

"It might just be."

"Ahhhh! When are you coming home?"

"Maybe in a few days, soon as we can drive up there."

"Do it quick."

"We'll try. And listen, you be good for your mother, help out with the baby and the new house and things."

"Aye aye Captain!" He said saluting then giggling. "Don't get a cold nose so it falls off."

Charles frowned, "Same to you. Bye."

"Bye, bye Mrs. C."

"Bye darling, have a good day."

"Mrs. C indeed," Charles said as Elsie put the phone aside.

"Well, he's only young, he forgets," she snuggled down in bed again. "Glad the kittens are okay though."

"I know, me too." He glanced at her, "You look comfy."

"I don't much fancy doing anything at the moment other than being lazy."

"Fair enough. No better time for it. I'll go search for these boots after breakfast, just in case we do decide to go out."

"Alright dear…" her eyes were closed and he smiled at her relaxed expression, reaching over to brush her fringe from her face.

"Food's here," he said. "I'll go get it at the door. And make more tea."

"Good plan," she mumbled, entirely comfortable.

* * *

"Good God!" Elsie sighed, kicked the quilt aside as she put her iPad down.

"What?"

"I have actually just watched an advertisement on here for 'Food Huggers'."

"Which are?"

"Some rubber device that you pop over food when you've cut it in half – tomatoes, apples, cucumber etc." She flopped back against her pillows, "It kinda resembles a diaphragm to be honest."

"A what?!"

"You know – female cont–,"

"I know what one is," he said abruptly. "I don't much fancy one on my tomatoes, think I'll stick to Clingfilm."

She laughed, "And just when I begin to forget how stuffy you are!" She dropped her legs out of bed, "Gonna make some more tea. You want one?"

"Sure, but I'll make it," he went put his book aside.

"No, I'm up. Plus, I rather like this Teasmade thing, reminds me of one my Gran had by her bed."

He rolled his eyes, "Sorry about the hotel, bit old fashioned."

"I hardly mind that."

"Yes, but not quite the luxury of Spain, is it?"

She pressed the buttons on the ancient machine, "Again, am I supposed to mind that? The weather's shit too but I'm sure you can't fix that neither."

"Don't be too certain of that."

"Oh, your butlering powers stretch to that, do they?"

He laughed, "If only."

"It doesn't matter, Charles. I didn't expect some grand welcome, top class service – that was a treat, but treats are usually rare. And this is fine, comfortable, nice view of the icy sea. Besides, it's a new business. Is it a business?"

"I guess so."

She poured milk into the tea, "It would sound odd if we just said you're 'providing a service.'"

He rolled his eyes, "So very droll, Ms Hughes." He laughed, "I've missed your humour."

"Oh?" She carried his tea to him, let her hand linger as his fingers touched hers. "I didn't realise I was that funny."

"You're kidding, right? Our laughter was one of the first things that made me fall for you."

She let his comment pass, and carried her own cup of tea over to the window at the opposite side of the room, peeling back the corner of the curtains and watching the snow fall. Everything was still, silent.

"Looks beautiful out there."

"Bet it's not so beautiful being in it." He closed his book. "So much for my big advances into the world of training; snowed off."

"You sounded wonderful though," she said, glancing over to him. "I'm not sure I said that last night. I was mightily impressed."

"Were you?"

"Of course. Throw me a pillow." He did so and she sat on the floor by the window, "These low windowsills in old places; what do you think this is? Edwardian?"

"Think so. Tell me what you thought."

"I thought you sounded professional, knowledgeable."

"Not too boring?"

"No, not boring. You're an impressive speaker, you must know that, you've got presence, your voice for a start." She sipped her tea and turned to look at him again, "I'm not even interested in going into service but I was engaged. Though I admit, my interest was partially based on attraction."

He smiled at that, "Glad to know it's still there."

She cocked her head as she regarded him, "As if you could doubt it." She licked her lips, lowering her voice, "Have you heard from William yet?"

He shook his head, "I don't want to push him. I can wait, until he's ready. I've waited this long, after all." He picked his mug up, "I did get a call from Alice though."

She exhaled, "Oh."

"I didn't answer. I pressed the thing… the red button."

She raised her eyebrows at that, "Sulking with her?"

"Elsie…" He said softly and she turned away from him, hiding half behind the curtain as she watched the snow flurries. He licked his lips, determined to get somewhere with their conversation. "Look, that day I went to see her. Well, it wasn't pretty."

"You argued?"

"Quite loudly."

She turned around again, leaning against the frame, "I don't think I've ever heard you be that loud. Except when we've argued. Sometimes."

"Well, that's different. That's frustration because I care too much, passion, all of that. You can drive me mad…"

"My speciality."

"…But you're forgiven within five minutes too."

She smirked, "I wouldn't know."

"That's because you're more likely to sulk."

She nodded, she couldn't disagree with that. She was a sulker; she'd rather sulk in silence than talk it through with him. "So, what happened? You don't have to tell me, I mean, if you don't want."

"Of course I want. I've wanted to tell you everything for weeks, it was just… always too hard. Just on the tip of my tongue but too hard to find the words."

She realised she was frowning, her chin resting on her knees as she watched him. She wanted to respond, felt the need to defend herself, but instead kept her mouth clamped shut and listened.

"When I went over, I was resolute – I'd get the information from her and be done."

She held her hand up, "You're not going to break my heart and tell me you kissed again, are you?"

"God no, Elsie, really." He shook his head, "I would never. Is that what you think?"

She held his gaze, "No, not really. But I don't know entirely what to think." She screwed her mouth up, "What did she try? You said she tried. Tried what?"

"Her usual tactics, relying on my feelings for her, my attraction. I wanted to be fair to her, do you see Elsie? I wanted to be decent."

"Because you are."

"I don't want to cause anyone trouble or bother, certainly not any kind of scandal." He swallowed, rubbing her a hand through his hair as he thought. "I lost my temper, she wouldn't give me his address and my patience was lost. I think she realised that my feelings for her were no longer there, well, not what they were. I was drunk on New Year's Eve, dozy, surprised by William's engagement. But I was clear headed when I went to see her that day." He took another long breath, "I love you, and I told her I loved you. And I guess we went our separate ways."

She watched as he drank his tea, noted his trembling hand against the cup.

"Let's go out now, go get some air." She got to her knees and pushed herself up, "I'll put my jeans on and brush my hair. I think we need the walk."

"Yeah. Be good to get out of the room I guess. And breathe."

* * *

The flurries had ceased and, as often happens on winter days, the sky had cleared and the misty sun had put in a lacklustre appearance.

"Do you think people think I look a dick?" Elsie said, her arm tight around Charles' as they walked. "My jeans tucked in my boots?"

"I'm not sure it matters what they think."

"Course it does. Way life is."

He shook his head, "You really shouldn't worry what anyone thinks."

"Maybe not, but I do, only occasionally now. I care what you think."

"Well," he paused as they went to cross the road, then remembered it was silly to, after all the fact there was no traffic was the very reason they were here. "I only ever think the best of you."

She laughed – a short, sharp sound.

"You think I'm kidding?"

"I think you'd be hard pressed to always think the best."

"I certainly never think the worst. I wish you'd tell me things though."

She frowned, twisting her head to look at him, "Me tell you things? Getting information out of you at times is like drilling for oil in the back yard. Your hand for a start."

He stopped, his heel slipping a little on the snow. "What?"

"Did you really think I wouldn't notice? That I hadn't? Honestly Charles, we live together, we share the same space, I think I notice when you're ill."

He grumbled low in his throat, resuming their walk, heading towards the sea wall, his boots crunching in the thick snow.

"I didn't want to talk about it."

"Why?"

"Because then it makes it real and I don't want it to be."

"You can't force something away by sheer force of will."

"I can try."

"Charles," she was caught between irritation and sympathy for him. "You can't accuse me of not sharing with you and then hide something like this."

"Why didn't you ask?"

"Because you're a private man and I figured you'd open up when ready."

He huffed, taking the corner carefully and leading her down the slight incline. "Careful," he instructed, gripping her hand in his.

Surprisingly, the sea was calm; flat and even and reaching out to meet the sky. Brighton Palace Pier was decked in white and they stood side-by-side staring at it, watching excited children chasing their dog through the shallow snow on the beach. There were more people out and about than Elsie had expected and there was something reassuring about being out with him in public again, amongst other human beings.

"I like this," she said.

"Being outside?"

"Yes. That. But I meant being with you, just passing the time of day."

"Rough few weeks," he admitted. "I've missed it too. And I appreciate you holding on in there with me, I know it hasn't been easy."

"For you neither, I do know that." She squeezed his hand as if to make a point.

"Essential tremor, is what the Doctor says, and it's a family trait. Nothing much to worry about right now, avoid stress and the like. Exercise. Stay healthy." He huffed again.

"What?"

"Falling to bits. Why would you want to waste your time with some creaky old git?"

"Because you're mine and I love you very much. Creaks and all. But I do worry, I think I have a right to."

"Might affect work, he said, but it made me make some choices.

"Oh?"

"Barrow and I will go fifty-fifty, I can be the silent partner if I want. And it might go that way. It's the part of the reason I pursued this, give me something to aim for, it might not make any money but I can get by. I won't be a drain."

"As if I'd ever consider that."

"No. But I would. We're not married and…"

She groaned.

"Don't make that noise at the word."

"Don't bring it up. Married or not we're still partners I hope, to me living together and sharing the bills is far more important."

He exhaled slowly, "I understand what you're saying. I disagree, but I understand."

"Why do you disagree?"

"Because marriage changes everything. Of course it does."

"How do you know? You've never done it."

"Let's not argue right now."

"We're not arguing, it's discussing..."

"Yes, and disagreeing."

"We can't always agree."

"No, but I don't spend my entire time with you bickering over every detail."

She turned her back on the view so she could face him, leaning against the railing. "We don't bicker." She smiled slightly, chewing on her bottom lip. "I'm sorry about your hand."

"Thank you."

"You know I'll help however I can."

"I know."

"Shall we walk again?" She asked, "My toes are setting solid."

"Not really got the right socks for snow."

She nodded.

"And with those jeans tucked in to your boots you do look a bit foolish."

She playfully slapped his arm, "I told you I looked a dick."

* * *

Elsie kicked the snow with the toe of her boot, sending it into the back of Charles' leg.

"Oops. Sorry."

"I don't think you're sorry at all."

"Maybe not…" she kicked again, giggling and he turned to face her this time.

"If you don't stop it madam."

"You'll what?"

He bent forward, scooping the top part of the snow where it was still soft and feathery to the touch. "My hands are larger than yours, you do know what that means?"

She eyed him, his mischievous eyes, the palest blue, almost grey. For a moment, she remembered his hands on her; the way he'd cup one breast in his palm, bend to pay her nipple focussed attention; the other hand on her hip, or her bottom, or in her hair.

Her body shivered and closed in around her.

"You cold?"

"Not really," she smiled as he dropped the snow.

"Childish game," he said.

"I started it," she strode forward, gripping his arm again. "Good job you're here, you hold me up, I've not got much good balance."

"Nice grammar."

She elbowed him, "And there was me paying you a compliment – tall, sturdy Mr. Carson. I don't think anything could bring you down."

"Is this some kind of metaphor?"

"Oh goodness," she stopped, pulling on his arm and he jerked backwards.

"You trying to test the theory?"

She let go of his arm, moving to the shop window, "Look at these, wonderful pieces."

"Painting?"

"I wish I could, you can, I've seen, you're good."

He moved beside her, "Haven't done it for years. Maybe in the spring, might get out in the garden, dig out my easel."

"I like the trees." She said, lifting a finger and pointing at the glass, "That path through them looks like it goes on forever. I'd like to walk it, dappled sun through trees. You can almost hear the birds, can't you?" She said softly, leaning against his side. "I wonder how much it is."

"Price doesn't really matter if you like it." He stood on his tiptoes, scanning for a price tag. "There, hanging from the corner." He stepped closer to the glass, cupping his hands around his eyes so he could squint at the handwritten tag. "2… 2 something. Let me see, definitely three numbers to it so two hundred and something."

She made a hissing noise as she sucked air between her teeth, "Maybe not for the downstairs loo then."

"Course not." He started to remove his gloves, "Hallway, I thought, when you come in you can stare at it as you take your shoes off, which is what you always do first."

"Do I?"

"Yes. You slip your shoes off," he was digging around in his coat pocket for paper. "Then you like to take your tights off, stockings, whatever it is, and stretch your feet as you walk around barefoot. Even through the winter you've done it."

She found herself smiling at his description and then he snapped his fingers at her, "You got any paper in that handbag?"

"Whatever for?" She found an old letter in there and let him have the envelope; he scribbled something on the back. "What are you doing?" She asked again.

"Note to the proprietor, instructing him not to sell this painting as I wish to purchase it before I leave Brighton. Then my name and number."

"Charles –,"

"Don't argue. I don't always say the right thing, I usually can't find the words, but I want to get this for you. Whether I'm around or not to see it."

"Goodness don't say that," she grasped his arm. "You'll always be around."

"Elsie," he pulled his gloves back on. "We don't know what'll happen."

"This hand business lead to death, does it?"

He rolled his eyes, "No, but death isn't what I meant."

"I know what you meant," she said firmly, "And you'll _always_ be around."

She had only meant to kiss him gently, but when he'd groaned against her lips she felt like she was giving him life, breathing air into his lungs until they expanded and filled every inch of his body with light.

He grasped her to him, his hand wide against her back, fingers scrunching into the material of her coat.

She clung to him, both arms winding around his waist, content to be held by him.

Charles' mouth opened hers and their tongues met; delicate hunger as they danced together. This was not the kind of kiss Charles Carson did in public; his airport kiss was the most forceful she'd known so far.

"I missed you," she found herself mumbling, gasping for breath.

"Missed you too," he nudged her nose with hers until she kissed again, her face wet with tears.

* * *

 _Charles strode on through the snow, bundled up against the elements. He wore his father's jumper, the one his Grandmother had knitted: burgundy wool, a thick rope collar, the slightly wonky sleeves. He bent his head forward, trying to shield his eyes from the onslaught – icy pinpricks against his skin._

" _Come on," he looked up at the sound of a voice, "hurry up, keep up."_

" _Elsie?" He shielded his eyes, "Wait, let me catch up."_

" _You're always a step behind," his mother said and he was suddenly at the top of the hill, his mother on a bench watching him as he gasped for breath and panted with exhaustion._

" _Where's she gone?"_

" _Elly?" His mother scolded, "You were too slow. Fooling about." She held out her hand, "Help me up, let's go."_

" _Wait a second," he could hear the sea in the background, a barking dog. "Where's she gone? Mother? Help me look."_

" _There's nothing left to look for."_

He grasped at something and blinked at white – one, two, three, four – his knuckles ached and his mouth felt tight. There was shadow moving and he realised he was staring at the ceiling.

"Did you nod off?" Elsie said gently, leaning over him, her shadow casting on his body. "Thought you were just resting your feet before we went down for dinner."

"Yes," he searched his brain for a memory of making plans for the evening. "Elsie," he reached for her hand.

"Hm?"

"Don't go."

"I was only going to brush my hair, change these wet jeans."

"Let's not go down to dinner, let's eat here. I don't want to have to talk."

"I assume you mean to other people and not me," she squeezed his hand. "I'll put the kettle on then, not bother dolling myself up."

He squeezed her hand, "We can eat in here, will you mind?"

She shook her head, "Glad to be alone with you, truth be told." She tilted her head to one side, "You okay? Look kinda… shaken."

"Odd dream. And I'm hungry." He turned her hand over in his, rubbing her palm with his thumb. "Walk knackered me."

"What do you fancy eating?" He quirked an eyebrow and she laughed, "Really! That's not like you."

He smiled, "Fish and chips maybe, you?"

"I really fancy an Indian, you know."

"I could go for that, but where would we get it?"

"Absolutely no idea. Something to look forward to, when we get home? That little place on the High Street with about three tables in it."

"And the overzealous owner."

"We'll take-away."

"Fish and chips then, from the restaurant downstairs."

"Done."

They sat on the bed eating, the news on in the background. The room was slightly too warm and the smell of the food only made it seem more claustrophobic.

"Better chips on the coast, don't you think?" Charles said, adding more vinegar to his. "Out of those Styrofoam tray things and with wooden forks."

"I hate wooden forks," Elsie said, "I worry about cutting my lip."

"I once dated a girl who wanted to do a fish and chips trip?"

Elsie frowned, reaching to remove her socks before stretching out her legs.

"She had this list of the top 20 around the country, and she thought it'd be fun to drive to every one. Write little reviews."

"I take it you didn't?"

"God no, we broke up before I left on another trip."

"There are worst things to do, I guess." She returned her plate to the tray, her food half uneaten.

"Than break up?"

"Than take a trip to fish and chip shops."

"Oh yeah, I guess so. Could've been something really dull – pencil factory. Or plates, thousands of the same plate being printed."

"Bizarre conversation," she got up from the bed, "you can have the rest of mine, if you want."

"I'm alright."

Elsie pulled back the curtain, rubbing the condensation from the glass, "Mind if I open the window?"

"Course not, getting warm in here. Is it dark out?"

"Getting there." She stared out at the view, listening as Charles cleared their dinner things away and moved the tray into the hallway. "Odd isn't it."

"What?" He returned to the bed, turning off the bedside lamp and the volume on the television.

"Being here, the two of us, after the year… After it all." She pressed her palm against the glass, watching the heat from her hand imprint on it.

"You always said relationships were messy."

"I did, didn't I?" she laughed harshly, "Which is why I avoided them."

He swallowed, throat tightening, an odd feeling in his chest as he heard his mother's voice and thought of walking a snow-capped hill; a walk that leads to nowhere.

"And now?"

Elsie shrugged without looking at him. Surprisingly, the snow seemed to be getting heavier; she could hardly see the road below, just outlines of streetlamps, the steely sea beyond. Shapes of cars and buildings along the main street looked like outlines in an incomplete sketch.

"Funny," she said, thinking aloud, "who knew I'd still be such a pushover. I thought I'd consigned that particular quality to my youth."

"There's a difference between being kind and generous, and a pushover. You're being incredibly kind to Ethel."

"What makes you think I was referring to her?"

"Ah," he realised the meaning behind her words. "Me."

"Us," she said. "Am I being silly here, Charles? Chasing after you, driving all the way down here because I couldn't stand not to be with you when things seem so… such shaky ground. I feel I've gotten myself into a mess I can't get out of."

"And, do you want to get out of it?"

"Surely, that's the question I keep asking you, that I've been asking you for weeks."

"And I keep telling you 'no', as firmly and honestly as I can."

"Really?" She was genuinely surprised that he thought he'd been clear with her.

"I don't want out of us. I don't want anyone else. I'm not sure how else I can say it."

"Perhaps this is one of those cases where actions speak louder than words."

"I asked you to marry me, Elsie, what clearer action is there?"

"But why? Why did you ask, Charles?" She shrugged, sitting with her back to the window so she could look at him as she spoke. "Because you loved me? Or to provide some sort of security, to tie me to you so I couldn't walk away like Alice did? Or to make some kind of point to her? To make her jealous?"

"Don't be so childish," he snapped, "There are so many things wrong with that statement I'm not sure where to start."

She pushed her hands against the glass, turning to face him, "What's the phrase – lie quickly?"

"Oh bollocks to that Elsie, bollocks to it!"

She paused at the foot of the bed, leaning against the old wooden frame for support; something in his tone unnerved her.

"So I've made mistakes, so I've been mixed up over some things, emotional, distracted… Haven't you been there before?"

"I never shut you out."

"Didn't you? And besides, we're different people. My mind doesn't work like yours does, I don't find it easy –,"

"I know that! I'm not stupid."

"Listen to me, I proposed because, quite honestly, I don't want to lose you. I want to spend every waking day of my life with you. We couldn't buy a home together because we don't need to; I needed something permanent. Some kind of commitment between us. So yes, okay, something to 'tie us together' – is that so bad? When I'm dead and buried I want a little slither of evidence that at one point in my life I was absolutely in love and loved in return. That I did something right." He shook his head, "I know the irony of that; this is that time and I've ballsed it up. I know that. I proposed and you scuttled off somewhere to hide from me, crying into your friends' skirts instead of to me."

"I never said anything negative about you to them, never, it was me I blamed."

"And I blamed me. You see, if we'd just talked."

"I kept trying…"

"You were silent with me for over a week. I kept talking to your shoulder in bed at night."

"And I listened, I took it in."

"Fuck's sake," he rubbed a hand over his face, "this is frustrating. Listen, I know I hurt you, I know that. But I keep trying to be totally honest with you so you don't think I'm hiding anything or lying to you and it backfires and my honesty results in the opposite." He was breathless, red-faced, his chest tight as he spoke, "I will always feel something for her – I've carried it too long. But it isn't love. It isn't on the same level, not even in the same category or on the same shelf as what I feel for you. Of what you've come to mean to me. I thought we said months ago that this was forever."

"It is. And it was in September, when we were in Scotland, when we said it," she said tearfully, blinking and looking away. "Oh God, I told you this was a mess. I feel like everything's all tangled up…"

His voice was softer, and, oddly, he felt physically lighter for having spoken to her about such things. "Then let's spend the time untangling it; we're hardy going anywhere soon. But don't stand there, it's cold –,"

"It's boiling in here. I've reached the _change_ age, remember?"

He rolled his eyes, "Get in bed, I'll get us something stronger to drink than tea."

"We've got alcohol in here? You've been holding out on me."

She passed him as he got up from bed and she sat on top of the sheets.

"Steven gave me a bottle of red wine, expensive too, a thank you for coming on board. I guess he doesn't know he's doing me a favour."

"Tell me about it all," she said, before blowing her nose. "I feel like I've only been half involved."

"We can talk about that later," he pulled the cork from the bottle. "More important things I think." He rinsed their mugs and poured the wine in, "Here. Not the most elegant of delivery for such a luxury."

She settled herself against the pillows, reaching down to where his dressing gown lay on the bed and pulling it up over her legs. She watched him as he returned to the bed, how he found it difficult to bend down to such a low mattress. He was just a man after all, human, and she so wanted him with her for many years to come. To care for him.

"I got scared," she said gently.

"What of?"

"Never had to rely on anyone before," she swirled the wine in her glass. "It's not quite the same as relying on yourself."

"Ah, I'm not trustworthy?"

"That's hardly what I meant. And you must feel the same."

"At times, sometimes. You're…" he smirked, "At the start I felt like I'd been hit by a truck." He reached across, resting a hand on hers. "I never had this spark before, and I mean this feeling in me, the spark in me that lights everything else, that keeps me going. I guess I'm scared too, because if I lose it, things won't be the same. I won't be."

She shifted, resting her head against his arm. "As scared as it makes me, you know I never gave up on us. I wouldn't. I just needed time."

He closed his eyes, "I know, and I'm sorry I was distant. Everything happened all at once, this bloody hand for one – part of me hoped I'd skipped the family curse. I kept lying to myself, ignoring the odd twinge." He sighed, feeling her body curl against his. "I kept thinking of my old hand shaking on your body, how off putting that would be."

"Darling, nothing…" she faded off, holding his hand tighter in hers. "Some fucking curse."

"Yeah. Too many of them. What if he isn't my son, Elsie, after all this time? After all these years of dwelling. I keep praying, I want him to be. I so want some kind of slim chance to be something to him, even if it's private, even if it's hidden away. It would be something, you know."

"I do."

For a long time they sat in silence, leaning against the other, a support for the other's body. Outside the softness of snowflakes fell, like the soft fall of a hand upon the piano keys, resolute and measured, drifting into space and time. A note lost forever.

"It's terrifying, because it matters," Elsie whispered. "And it's beautiful, and still so fragile at times, this love we share." She breathed deeply, opening her soul to him. "With Joe, he found something in me when we were young, his home he said. That I was his home. But he was never mine, I tried," she swallowed, "I tried to make a home out of him but there was nothing there but a shell and I never understood it, what he felt. I never understood his dependency on me or need for me until I met you."

She stretched her legs, her body moving from his, "I used to think I was cold," he watched as she crawled across the bed and got up to close the window at the other end of the room. "That after Geoff and Alex, I had a right to be, that it justified my being cut off from any kind of emotional involvement."

"You're far from cold," he said, putting his glass down. "The kindest soul I've met. I waited an entire lifetime to find you, and do you know what? I'd wait a lifetime all over again if I had to."

She smiled, eyes watering as she climbed back onto the bed, in front of him now, her body moving to his as smooth and natural as the first time they met. Her fingers danced across his shoulders, broad and strong, as she climbed into his lap. "I do love you," she said, with utter sincerity. "I never stopped."

He held her secure, nodded once; becoming overly-emotional had never sat comfortably with him but sometimes, rare times, he let it into his blood. There were tears in his eyes as he rested his chin on her shoulder, holding her tight against him as he cried.

"I love you too," he mumbled against her neck. "I thought I'd lost you…"

She shook her head, her hands cupping his face and he let her instigate and guide the kiss. Her mouth gentle on his, her hands moving to his hair. There was still a part of his mind wondering just how far they would go, if all they'd said could possibly fix the hurt of the weeks gone by. If lovemaking was right at this moment. But as the kiss deepened and clothes were gradually removed, there was no doubt that this was exactly what both needed.

He whispered repeatedly as he held her, his mouth slipping to her neck, tender over her translucent skin. "I've missed every freckle," he said. "Every single second with you, you're everything to me."

He tasted of watery-salt, and it was somehow reassuring to her, to find that human side of him all over again. She gasped when he rolled her onto her back, when his hand moved between her legs and she found his name falling from her mouth. It had been too long and it always felt so good. Heavenly.

Elsie pushed back against the pillows, one hand scrunching into the bedclothes as his tongue travelled over her body, she closed her mind and tuned in to his whispered words of tender affection. And then his mouth was between her thighs and she jolted beneath him at the sensation. Falling back onto the bed and floating into oblivion as he took his time.

Every second was drawn out, every miniscule fraction of nothingness escalated and heightened until she felt like china beneath his attentions.

Charles committed each one of her sighs of pleasure and happiness to his memory, watching her face as her body squirmed at his touch, ignoring his own need and instead lavishing her with adoration. Her heel rubbed against his lower back as she gripped one leg around his body, her voice floundering to the heavens, rising in pitch.

"You feel so good," she inhaled, bit her lip, lifted her hips to direct him and then cried his name when he hit just the right spot.

Glorious, there was no other word for it, to watch her come absolutely undone at his touch. He wanted to do it over and over again, to take her to this place and bring her absolute pure joy. He wanted it to be about what she needed, not his own desire. Binding every slither of the wonderful moment to the photographs in his brain. Memorising the spot high on her thigh where if he breathed she jerked uncontrollably, or where she preferred his tongue, where his kiss enraptured her the most.

She stopped him with a hand on his head, "Too much," she panted, pushing the air out of her lungs. He kissed her belly, felt it quiver at his touch. She smelled like spring rain and he wanted to be buried in it. Languish in it until every part of his soul was healed.

Elsie moved slowly, turning her body up and over until he got her meaning and adorned her back with kisses. His hands tiptoeing; ghostly fingertips imprinting the silk of her skin to the pads of his fingers.

She twisted onto her side and he lay behind her, his hand moving over her belly and down between her legs again. She pressed her thighs together, held his hand there and smiled as he nipped her earlobe with his teeth.

When she turned over again it was to roll him on his back and move on top of him. A fluid, slick movement as she kissed him passionately. The deep velvet silk of her surrounded him; he gripped her hips, felt his head fall back, the strength leave his body. Bliss. Completeness. A desperate need to love her. Encapsulated in one tiny movement.

Eyes open again, he looked back to the window, noted the gathered snow on the ledge, and reached for Elsie's hand. Warmth.

She fell against him, her mouth finding his as their bodies moved together. He slid his hand into her hair, held her still as he looked into her eyes.

"The thought of ever losing you…"

She cut him off, "I know," she stilled her hips, felt him throbbing deep within her. "We did it to ourselves."

"Made mistakes?" He muttered.

"Or lessons to learn."

He watched as she slowly sat back again, both of her hands pressing against his, their fingers playing with the other's, palms pressed tight together. He opened his mouth, felt a long stream of air leave his lungs as his groin ached with need. He licked his lips and his voice cracked as he spoke, "Where do we go from here?"

* * *

 _Sorry for the delay. To be frank, we're at the arse-end of the school year and I'm on countdown until my exam classes leave so I can have a life again..._

 _...Still, hopefully its nice to have a bit of Chelsie, despite the wait xx_


	37. Chapter 37

**Chapter 37**

 **Friday 10** **th** **February**

"You've got a dog?" Charles asked, putting down his beer.

William chuckled, "I know, seems ridiculous right? We're both at work so often and in a flat." He shook his head. "But Niamh had always wanted one and so…" he shrugged. "Jack. I've got pictures on my phone but that seems a step too far – to suddenly start dragging those out."

"I don't mind, seeing them, you know."

"You have pets? Do you even like dogs?"

"We just got a kitten actually, total fluke that is. Elsie isn't, well wasn't, much of a pet person. Basically, we'd kinda adopted a cat, well I kept feeding it and it turned up over Christmas and gave birth in our living room."

William laughed, "Wow, some gift."

"Yeah, Elsie's sister loved it. Three kittens anyhow, we… well, we kept one of them. He's become Elsie's shadow, hence her change of heart. No bigger than your fist and yet he's taken over the house."

"They do that. She seems nice. Elsie, I mean."

"She is. Wonderful. And, your… Niamh seems lovely too."

"She's great. Frantic plans starting now though."

"You have a date in mind, for the wedding?"

William nodded, draining his pint glass. "We'd like to do it this year."

"Oh, that soon?"

"Seems silly to wait, no need for a long engagement, neither of us wants that. Besides. We like the idea of starting a family."

Charles felt his throat dry, and glanced into the bottom of his empty glass. "You've discussed children, then?"

"Yeah. From the start. I suppose we want to try and be traditionalists, as far as we can be. But it's all stress, you know, we're planning this wedding and we're looking for a house."

"You want to buy?"

"If we can. Getting a deposit together has been fun!" He laughed. "Not really making it easy for ourselves."

"It's a lot of stress at once, do you need to buy so quickly?" Charles felt like he was extra cautious with his words, he really was in no position and certainly had no right to give his opinion.

"I think we like the idea of moving in together, our own place, you know. Even if it needs work, in fact I think we'd prefer that. Then we can make it ours."

"Well, Elsie knows a lot about properties, got a lot of contacts. I can ask her if she knows of anything coming free. You want to be in the same area?"

"Yeah, thereabouts. I'd be grateful for it, if she knows of anything. Shall we get another drink?"

"Oh yeah. Course, I'll get them though."

"You don't have to," William got up. "Same again? I've got time, before I go."

"You're meeting Niamh?"

"We're seeing the late film."

Charles nodded as casually as he could be, "Same again would be great."

He fiddled with the beer mat as he waited, twisting over one corner where it had come unpeeled and working the thin layers between his thumb and forefinger. He had hoped they'd go out for dinner, or just eat in the pub, have a real conversation, but he didn't want to push things. Since he'd returned from Brighton and Elsie had encouraged him to make contact he'd lived in a whirlwind of emotions.

He was a father. Confirmed.

William, quite clearly, was in a bit of a state at having it there in black and white; despite his years of knowing Charlie Grigg wasn't his father it was still a thump to the chest to find out he was now, actually, a Carson.

For his part, Charles had been ecstatic. He'd cried when he'd put the phone down, Elsie staring at him expectantly and gently whispering, "Well, what did he say?"

And he'd smiled at her, nodded, and cried, his face buried in her shoulder as she'd held him. It was quite something to admit, after all the years of wonder, that it was something he'd wanted his entire life.

She'd kissed his head, rubbed his back, soothed and whispered words of affection and he'd clung onto her, genuinely happy in that moment.

It was only after that he'd lay in bed at night wondering what the hell it all meant now and where they'd go from there.

A few stunted telephone conversations later and finally they met face-to-face. Charles had been early, as usual, and wondered about how to greet his 'son' when he arrived. William was home for a long weekend, wedding planning he said with his family, and that had put Charles firmly in his place. Presently, he was still nothing more than an old family friend and a sperm donor. Gently, gently was the route to go. This was the unknown to both of them, after all.

"There we go," William put down his drink. "So, what are you doing for Valentine's this year?"

"Nothing too exciting, considering the extravagance of last year." He smiled at the memory, "Hard to believe it's only a year ago, Elsie and I had just started seeing each other really, getting to know each other."

"Now a firmly established couple."

"Quite." He could remember that first tentative night in the hotel, waking in the early hours and making love and feeling like it was the first time he'd ever touched a woman. "Changed my life," he said gently, then looked to William's face. "I might not have ever been brave enough to pursue this had it not been for her."

William swallowed his beer, feeling his cheeks pink at the direct focus on the awkward truth between them.

"Niamh's been the same, to be honest, I didn't know if I wanted the results. When they arrived it took me a few days to open them; I wasn't sure if I wanted things to change."

"I can understand that."

"She made me realise if I didn't look then I'd always wonder, just as I have always wondered."

"Nothing has to change," Charles added. "Not really. We can take this at your speed, I'm happy just to be… just for this kind of thing really, just to be involved, to get to know you. I'm not phrasing this well."

"I know what you mean. And I appreciate it."

"Sybil, last year, losing her made me realise you've got to make the most of it all. You can't keep still, as much as that's been my tried and tested approach to things. If you want things to change you have to make that happen, otherwise I could have spent a lifetime staring at Elsie from across the room at a party and wondered but never known for sure. And you, I could have wondered, questioned, but remained in the dark."

"And knowing? It's better than not?"

Charles smiled slowly, "Yes," he nodded, feeling Elsie's hand take hold of his, her scent surrounding him, "immeasurably so."

* * *

"Now, don't bite," Elsie said, kneeling on the kitchen floor and holding out the cat treat. "Agh, no, wait, don't bite. You have to learn these things."

Socks lifted his paw and tapped the treat until it snapped in half and fell from between Elsie's fingers to the floor.

"Clever little bugger," she chuckled, watching him try to get the giant stick into his tiny mouth.

She scooped him up, settling him on her lap, "Come here, rascal," she kissed his head. "Let's try this," she broke off a piece of the treat and laid it in her hand in front of him and screwed up her face as he licked her palm and took the food. "Lovely," she said, "Your spit in my hand. You want some more?"

Socks looked up at her and licked her chin, "You're too cute for words," she smiled, kissing his nose. "Mummy will get you some more."

She fed him another piece, mentally pausing when she realised that it was first time in her entire life she'd used the word 'mummy' in reference to herself. She felt silly after the fact; he was just a cat, an animal, but then again maybe he did see her as his mother - she certainly did everything a mother would do – provide a home, feed, clean, even entertain.

"This is quite the family scene to come home to," Charles said, startling them both. Socks hopped down from her lap and bounded over to Charles, standing on the toe of his shoe and fighting with his laces.

"You and these bloody shoes," he said, bending down to tickle his belly. "We can be sure he's a man," Charles added, "I saw his _manhood_ earlier today."

"You did what?" She pushed herself up to her feet.

"He was lying on the sofa and I was stroking his chin and there it was."

"Perverted," she laughed, "What you two get up to whilst I'm at work. Thank goodness he's not done that to me. You're back early," She said, glancing at the clock, "it's only just after eight. I thought you'd be a couple more hours."

Charles threw his car keys onto the table and leaned over to kiss her cheek, "Yeah, he was heading to meet his girlfriend at the cinema."

"Oh," she sensed the low tone in his voice. "It went okay?"

"Yeah, went fine. Just… short." He shrugged. "Baby steps I guess."

"Yes, and better than nothing. I thought you were going to have dinner."

"Me too. We just had a couple of drinks. Misunderstanding I think, or me not making it clear what the evening would be."

She rubbed his arm, "I'll make you something to eat. Anything in particular?"

"Can you make me that cheese on toast you do, where you do the mustard thing? I like that."

She smiled, "Of course. You don't want anything more?"

"No," he wrapped his arms around her waist, "just a quick hug," he said gently, holding onto her. "Thanks for making me go," he mumbled into her shoulder.

"Oh, well, we both know how intelligent I am…" she returned the hug, "…always right."

* * *

 **Tuesday 14** **th** **February**

It had been decided between them that Tuesday was a ridiculous day to celebrate Valentine's; that the restaurants would be overpriced, terribly busy and noisy and they'd have a more pleasant evening if they just stayed home.

So they did.

Charles had a meeting as it turned out, and had taken the train to Milton Keynes at some obscene hour that morning, before Elsie had even woken and they'd had a chance to exchange gifts.

There was a card and an enormous bouquet of flowers in the vase on the kitchen table; she wondered how he'd managed to hide them from her. A post-it note stuck to the table informed her the rest of her gift 'came later' and she wondered if he'd meant the slightly risqué double entendre or if it was just her filthy mind.

He was gone most of the day, scouting for possible training venues with Steven and Michael and so she'd pretty much worked for most of it too. Coming home for her lunch hour she'd made Charles' favourite chocolate cake. She'd borrowed heart shaped tins from Beryl in a bid to make it slightly romantic and iced a C and an E entwined on the top, though the E was slightly wobbly as her wrist had weakened, but it was legible and she didn't think Charles would mind the distinct lack of flair with her cake decorating skills.

She'd gone back to the office in the afternoon with chocolate icing around the cuff of her blouse.

Charles was home by the time she got in, building Socks' latest toy and cursing in the kitchen.

"Oh bloody hell," he complained, sucking on his thumb to ease the sharpness behind his nail. "Bloody thing," he mumbled.

"Whatever's wrong?"

"Stupid thing, and they call these things instructions, four pictures do not make instructions. Screw this in here and put that through there."

"What kind of instructions are you reading, exactly?" She couldn't help but grin at the scene; Charles on his knees surrounded by bits and bobs as he tried to assemble the climbing frame and Socks, sitting on the kitchen table watching him.

"And all for him, look at this," he waved his hand as the kitten yawning and licking his foot. "Building this tower block for him, and he's wandering over the kitchen counters…"

"He's sitting on the table, he likes it there. Don't fuss."

"He's quickly becoming a spoilt little boy."

"He's lonely since Munchkin left," she said, turning to look over the cat climbing frame and Charles quieted at her tone; ever since Blue had died and they'd taken Munchkin up to Scotland, she'd been overly-protective of the remaining kitten, he couldn't deny her that really. "It's coming on," she said. "Nice, isn't it? Smart looking."

Charles pushed himself to his feet and stood back, "Not bad I guess, won't look bad in the corner."

"See. Anyhow, are you forgetting something, Mr. Carson?"

He smirked at her expectant expression, casual as he slid his hands around her waist, "What might that be?"

She fiddled with the open collar of his shirt, "Oh maybe missing me all day long, something like that."

He held her tighter, leaning his head down to hers and tenderly kissing her lips. "Happy Valentine's."

She smiled, eyes flashing bright and pure, "Happy Valentine's in return – our second one."

"Shall we celebrate?"

"Of course," she said, "Plenty of wine in the fridge."

"And cake…" he said knowingly.

"Oh, you found it, did you?"

He chuckled, "I _might_ have noticed it, hidden as it was right there in the middle of the counter. Nice icing." He winked.

She smiled, "Thanks. I do try. Do you want to finish that thing and I'll get started on dinner."

He kissed her again first, after weeks of awkwardness and then Brighton and the confinement it felt good to be relaxed with her. Sharing everything again.

She took out a bottle of wine from the fridge. "So, I was thinking."

Charles hammered the top shelf onto the frame, "Yes?"

"How about if we invited William and… what's his fiancée's name?"

"Here?"

"Where else?"

"They erm, well, they don't live close by really."

"No, but they could come over, they might, if you ask."

He sat back on his haunches, putting down the hammer. "We're both only just getting used to the fact we're related."

"Yes. And you've seen him once since the results. Charles, you pushed for this for a reason."

"And I don't want to push him away."

"It's dinner, some chat, that's it. And I want to get to know him too. I am part of your life, after all…"

He shook his head, "Pressing my buttons."

"Is that done?"

"Think so," he wobbled the contraption. "Seems sturdy enough."

"Well, he weighs as much as a satsuma. Put him on it, see if he likes it."

"You know the little bleeder's started nipping my fingers."

She held back her smirk; she did know, he'd done the same to her. "He just wants to play."

"He's still not learned how to retract the claws," he got to his feet, scooping Socks up from the table and gently placing him on the top shelf of the frame. "What do you think to that then?"

Socks turned round three times, sniffing the material, then plonked his bottom down and looked expectantly at Elsie.

"Do you like it sweetheart?" She kissed his head, "There's toys on it too, see," she shook one of the balls that hung from the stem and Socks reached out his paw to swipe at it. "That's it, look at your coordination."

"You'd be one of those terrible stage mums, I can see it."

She rolled her eyes, "Play with him whilst I cook."

He nodded, protesting but nevertheless putting up with a few claw marks as he played with the kitten. "Don't forget to chop the carrots –,"

"Lengthways, I know. Fussy bugger."

"You'd think, with it being Valentine's, you'd cut them into little hearts really."

"Oh yes, and you'd eat the blood-stained pieces."

"Each and every one. You do realise I have a gift for you, a real one, not the flowers."

"I would hope so," she took a sip of wine. "And I have one for you too, of course… Shall we swap now?"

"Because you can't wait."

"Because _you_ can't!"

She rushed out of the room, returning a few moments later with a large envelope and a small, wrapped package.

Charles had moved Socks' frame to the other side of the kitchen, and the kitten was happily clawing at one of the legs.

"Here you go." She said biting her lip, "Last year I gave you a jar of sweets."

"I still have the jar," he smiled, "it's empty now mind. I gave you nothing, so, hopefully this will make up for it."

"You gave me plenty," she kissed his cheek as she took the package from his hand and handed across her gift. "Hope you like it."

She giggled, hopping about playfully as she tore off the paper, "I love getting gifts!"

Charles opened the small package she'd given him, a set of paintbrushes.

"You'll get it when you open the other one," she explained, opening the small jewellery box to reveal a beautiful pair of blue earrings.

"Thought they'd match your eyes." He said, watching as she took out the pair she was wearing and put in the new ones.

"They're beautiful."

"I completely agree," he said softly, pulling her to him and kissing her firmly on the mouth.

She smiled against his lips; their second Valentine's and they were in love, deeply entwined in one life.

"Open the envelope," she said giddily, squeezing his free hand.

He did so, turning over what looked like a letter. "I need my glasses."

"Oh bloody hell, it's a painting class. I signed you up for it, 12 weeks, all paid for, and spring is coming so you can paint the garden…" She looked eagerly to his face, "You like it?"

"It's wonderful, a really wonderful, thoughtful present. Thank you so much."

"Hence the brushes."

"Well, indeed. Hope I haven't forgotten what to do with them."

"Never," she teased, "like riding a bike."

He rolled his eyes, squeezing her hip where he held her.

"You paint something good, I'll hang it in the lounge."

"I'll hold you to that." He leant in to kiss her and she pressed her finger to his lips.

"If you keep doing that we'll have no heart-shaped carrots."

"Bugger the carrots."

* * *

Charles shifted his legs, making room on the sofa as Elsie returned to the lounge, carrying a tray with two glasses of wine and two very large slices of chocolate cake.

"Ohhh that looks good," Charles rubbed his hands together. "Thank you darling."

"You're very welcome," she sat at the opposite end of the couch. "Had to cut through the heart of course."

"And you'd made it so lovingly."

"Mm," she took a forkful of the cake. "You had a good day?"

"Fruitful one," his cake was already almost gone. "Three possible venues, we're just going to play them off against each other now. I am, in fact."

"Look at you, businessman," she grinned. "Who'd have thought?"

"You've just never seen this side of me, that's all." He put his plate aside and took hold of his wine instead.

"I wasn't making a joke," she squeezed his sock-clad toes. "I like it, I like the fact you're enjoying this."

"Gives the old man something to do."

She shook her head, "More than that." She settled back comfortably, crossing her legs, which tipped her plate a little and she giggled as she put it aside and took hold of her wine.

"Elsie?"

"Mm."

Her hand rested on his ankle and she was absently rubbing his skin as she kept her eyes on the television.

"You're not bored, are you?"

"With the film?"

"No, I mean…" he picked up the remote and muted the television. "When we first started dating –,"

"I was watching that."

"Yes, listen though, for a second. It's Valentine's evening and we're stuck inside – cooking for ourselves and… Well, in the beginning…"

She sipped her wine, pursing her lips, amused by him. "In the beginning…" she prompted. "Is this a Bible story?"

He rolled his eyes, "Listen, sensibly."

"I am listening. Sensibly."

"We used to go out all the time, you know, dates, evenings."

"Yes. Are you worried we're staying home too much?"

"No," he shook his head, "course not. You know I'm happier here… But you're an outdoor, that's not the word I mean. You're sociable. You like to go out."

"I'm very happy," she said, squeezing his foot. "And we do go out, we had lunch with Robert and Cora at the weekend and I was perfectly pleasant to them."

"You were very nice."

"See. I am a social butterfly, perfectly content wherever, with whomever."

"And the large G&T helped."

"You know how I feel about Gin," she smiled. "Can we watch the rest of the film now?"

"Another thing, whilst I'm on it."

"Charles, I'm not bored. Besides we go out often, we have tickets for that play next week, if you don't want to go…"

"I do. It wasn't that. You remember on the stairs," he felt his chest redden and the blush rise up his neck. "New Year's Eve."

"Ohhhh, you mean 'that' on the stairs."

He nodded, "Were you bored then?"

"What the fuck?"

"No! Not that moment, I mean, of our sex life, I know I can be quite pedestrian."

"Are we really talking about this?"

Charles stared at her open-mouthed.

"Spit it out, whatever's on your mind," She insisted.

"Did we do _that_ on _that_ night because you were getting bored with me… I know, missionary, and all that?"

"No." She smiled softly, forcing herself not to giggle. "Of course not, never. Though I am concerned it's taken you almost two months to ask me that."

He shrugged, "I don't like to rush things."

She laughed, "Oh goodness, Charles," her body shook with laughter and she put down her wine and glanced at herself, noticing a mark. "Look at this."

"Icing on your breast," He said wryly.

She looked at him with dark eyes, "Want to lick it off? It is Valentine's."

Elsie crawled up the sofa, up over his body, laughing with him as he dipped his head down and licked the chocolate icing from her skin.

"Tastes good."

She placed a full kiss on his mouth. "My darling. I'm not bored. There's nothing I enjoy more than making love with you, any which way, that and making a huge profit when I sell a house."

He laughed now, cuddling her against him and kissing the top of her head, "Good. And I'm still waiting to see the benefits of that, you promised me a nice dinner."

"And we will. I promise I'll take you somewhere really swish. I was hoping to use the money in a more interesting way though."

"Oh?" He pulled the blanket from between them and lay it over their bodies.

"We were talking about getting some sunshine, and we still haven't done anything about it."

"I found a few hotels, we need to sit and look at them together."

"Let's do that tomorrow and get something booked."

"Deal," he kissed her head again. "Wanna watch the rest of this?"

She nodded and cuddled up against him, "I'm staying here though. I'm comfy now."

"That is your spot." He kissed the top of her head, "Unless you want to make an early night of it…"

* * *

Charles yawned and stretched his legs, curling his toes into the warmth of the bedding and immediately feeling his body relax. He listened as Elsie turned off the lights and removed her dressing gown.

"Where's my little boy?"

"On the windowsill," he mumbled.

She checked on him before she got into bed, "You think he's gonna want to start going out soon, at night I mean?"

"Dunno," he turned onto his side, burying his face into his pillow. "Natural, I guess," he yawned. "Get in bed."

"I am," she climbed beneath the sheets and snuggled back against him. "Chilly tonight."

He wrapped her in his arms and kissed her shoulder, "Soon warm up. I put the blanket on."

"This shows our age." She inched back against him, feeling his mouth on the back of her neck. "I don't want him to go outside without one of us, what if he doesn't come back?"

"You're kidding me. That kitty knows which side his bread is buttered, he's going nowhere."

"I hope not." She turned onto her back, leaning up to his kiss. His eager hands wandered over her body, lifting her hips up to him. "Mm, I see you're suddenly awake." She smiled against his mouth.

"Shh…" he rolled over onto his back pulling her with him; she giggled as her body fell on top of his.

"Charles…" she groaned, deepening the kiss.

"Ah, shit!" He rolled them forward again, gasping and reaching behind him.

"What?"

"What the hell is this?" He fussed behind him, searching for something in the sheets and Elsie turned on the lamp. "It's a bloody hairbrush!" Charles exclaimed.

"Oh, sorry." She took it from him, "That's mine. I must've thrown it on the bed this morning."

"Jabbed me in the arse."

She chuckled, "Oh dear Mr Carson, that's a different kind of foreplay all together."

"Not funny."

"I don't know," she laughed again as he rubbed his bottom. "Maybe you like that kind of thing, for me to give you a good spanking with it. Paddling, is that what they call it?"

"You'd find humour in every bloody situation," he smiled, laying down again. "Kinda ruined the moment."

"I don't know. You were worried we might be getting boring, this would certainly liven things up."

"I do not want to be spanked with your hairbrush. Christ almighty, why people go in for that stuff? Agony."

"You should pay more attention to what you're lying on. Maybe I should use a different name whist we're engaging in it – Candycane or ohh Chesty Leroux. I've wanted to use that for a while."

He shook his head despairingly.

"What would your name be?"

"Charles," he said deadpan and she laughed harder, resting her head on his chest.

"I don't know, teaching my little boy naughty ways."

"Well, he best close his ears because I'm going to have my wicked way with his mother."

"Are you indeed, with or without the involvement of a hairbrush?"

"Elsie…" he drawled, "or do you prefer Chesty for short?" He was laughing as he tickled her waist, covering her chest in kisses as she rolled across their bed and he moved after her.

"What do you want to do to me?" She teased, lifting her feet to press against his stomach, keeping him at arm's length. "Chaaarles…"

He sat back, pulling off his t-shirt and throwing it aside. "Just you wait."

"Tease."

"She says with her heel in my groin."

"Want me to put the brush there instead?"

"Drop it with the brush," he pressed his hands to her knees, "otherwise I'm just going to roll over and go to sleep."

"Oh really?"

He parted her knees and moved on top of her and she simultaneously wrapped her arms and legs around him, holding him tight against her.

"I don't think you could," she said, wiggling beneath him. "Not without a cold shower."

He gazed down at her smiling face, the shine to her clear eyes. "Elsie Hughes," he whispered, brushing her hair back from her face, spreading it out over the bed.

"Yes?" She lifted her chin, her nose nudging his and they smiled into their kiss.

His mouth moved over her neck, he took his time, enjoying the feel of her body beneath his, the way she responded to his touch. She was holding his left hand in her right, lifting it up over their heads, stretched across the mattress, their fingers enclosed around the others.

He felt his toes touch the carpet, his knees bent awkwardly on the edge of the mattress and he slipped down to the floor until he was kneeling by the bed. She yelped in excited surprise as he pulled her towards him, his strong hands on her thighs.

She gasped his name as he ran his thumb between her legs, her free hand reaching down to grasp his and still his movements. He kissed her lower belly, pushed himself up with both hands against the mattress and Elsie watched as he removed his pyjama bottoms.

"This is the height of seduction," she teased, stretching on the bed. "We're the wrong way round, you'll never fit on the bed like this."

"Stop talking," he bent over her again, kissing her, his tongue stroking hers, one hand cupping her breasts.

Her hands stroked up his back as his mouth shifted to her breasts.

"God, I love it when you do that," she breathed, a worship as he lavished attention upon her nipple in his mouth. "It feels so good."

"Everything about you feels good," his palms smoothed over her belly to her hips, lifting her pelvis again as he moved back to his knees. He was probably too old for this and might regret it in the morning but right now nothing else mattered but tasting her and hearing that wonderful sound she made when he did. He'd go anywhere, pay anything, make any sacrifice, to hear her whisper his name in the way she did when wrapped up in her pleasure.

When the tension in her stomach got too much she pressed one hand against his head and pushed herself forward, one leg either side of him, feet pressing against the floor as she moved. Their mouths met frantically, his arms tight around her, and somehow she managed to fall from the bed and into his lap and they both laughed when he groaned at the pressure on his knees.

She pressed against his shoulders as he sat back on the carpet, unfurling his legs and stretching them out as she simultaneously rearranged herself and wrapped her legs around his waist.

"Lord above you're good," he panted as she moved her hips, taking him inside her. "So, so good for me."

She hummed her response, consumed by pleasure, her mouth seeking his again. "I love you so much," she whispered into the kiss.

One of his hands was pressed against the side of the bed, supporting them, the other spread wide against her back, fingers flexing against her shoulder blade. He would have pledged her anything in that moment, but words had become too difficult to form, even breathing was a chore. She made him forget his own name.

He somehow held back, bit his lip, fixated on her face, watching as she melted before him, on him, around him. The pitch of her voice rising alongside her orgasm; she giggled after, and that made him smile. She was happy and that filled him. She pressed her hand against his chest and he lay back, letting her rise above him, his hands on her hips.

Elsie gazed down at him, a lopsided smile on her face, the deep intensity on his. She watched his eyes darken as she lifted her hips, rolled forward, back, slow, slowly. His lips parted, just slightly, and she imagined feeling the long breath escape him, coloured with the edges of a groan, a gasp.

"Happy 2nd Valentine's," she whispered. "My love."

No fancy restaurant or extravagant hotel could be bring him more joy.

* * *

"This is the longest relationship I've had," she whispered, tucked neatly against his chest, warm, sated, content. "Fourteen months nearly."

"Really?"

"A-ha. Isn't it yours?"

"Two years and three months, that's my longest."

"Oh," she pouted, running her nails over his chest.

Charles squeezed her shoulder, kissed the top of her head, "You sulking?"

"No…"

"I can sense it."

"I want to be your longest relationship."

"You're the most important, does that count?"

She shrugged, "A little."

He chuckled, "Child."

"Well. I'll be sticking around, like it or not, I like to win and I've still got another year to go if I'm going to beat this other bitch."

"Am I suddenly a competition?"

"No, course not," she kissed his chest appealingly. "But I'm still going to win."

"You already have. Several times over."

Elsie looked up as Charles suddenly jerked his head.

"Ow! I'm a catastrophe area tonight."

"What's going on now?" She asked.

"Socks; guess my eyeball is a nice place to sleep."

She twisted over, "Where is he?"

"Curling into a ball on the other pillow. My pillow."

"Well, stay here, this side, don't turn over in the night, you'll crush his little body."

"He should be in his basket."

"It's cold and he wants to be near us, be nice, you wanted him after all."

"Yes, I do want a pet, I thought it'd be nice for us, to share something like that. But that doesn't mean we forego rules."

"We'll teach him rules when he's older." She giggled, "You old grump."

"Thanks very much."

"How's the bottom?"

"Sore. Why people do that for pleasure is beyond me."

"People like all sorts," she yawned, cuddling even closer. "I guess doing it on the carpet didn't help neither."

" _It_ ," he chuckled. "Doing i _t_!"

"You know," she smirked, "Stop talking, I'm working tomorrow."

"You're the one rabbiting on." He closed his eyes, feeling her kiss his chest again. "Night night."

"Night darling, love you."

"I love you too…" he smirked, "Candycane."

* * *

 **Saturday 18** **th** **February**

Elsie was a little behind the others. The venue was an old manor house on a sprawling estate; she'd driven them to the door then gone to park, as confusing as the parking arrangements were, before walking the gravel path alone to reception.

It was the kind of late winter morning she always liked; a white sky, a pale sun, and the crispness of the day taking her forward.

She'd left Charles searching B&Q online; ever since the painting gift he'd decided he needed some kind of decent sized shed in the garden where he could keep his materials. ' _If I'm going to get back into it_ ,' he had said, ' _I want to be serious about it_.'

He'd sketched plans for shelves where his materials would be carefully organised and stored, and gone back to his old apartment to bring over unused canvases and old brushes. It seemed an eternity since he'd painted anything decent and with his hand the way it was he still wondered if he could manage it. She'd indulged him, there was room behind the garage for a shed, they'd just need to clear away some plant life and trim the hedge back. And besides, she felt like she still owed him something, like she was still trying to do the best by him.

"Cocktails then?" Beryl said, getting up from the couch as Elsie came through the entrance.

"I need to pee first."

"There's toilets downstairs," Isobel said, hooking her arm through Elsie's. "Come on, let's have champagne cocktails before we go into the spa. What time's your massage?"

"Not til 11, I thought I might swim first."

"We'll all do that," Beryl agreed. "Swim, get the exercise bit done, then laze about the rest of the day."

"Fab Christmas gift," Elsie said, thanking Isobel.

"You're welcome. Let's go sit in the lounge, I've something to tell you both."

* * *

"I think we're bringing down the average age," Beryl said, laughing.

"I wouldn't be so sure," Elsie glanced around the bar area, "We might be just about joining the average age."

"Don't say that," Beryl insisted. "I don't want to think of myself as some kind of doddery old fool quite yet. Taking coach trips to quiet hotels around the country and taking up ballroom dancing for the afternoon session."

Elsie sniggered as Isobel carried their tray of drinks over. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Beryl was just looking forward to the afternoon entertainment."

"I know! Have you seen what it is? I feel like Lionel Blair might turn up to direct proceedings." Isobel handed the glasses around. "Now, wait, before we drink I want to say something."

"Is this some heartfelt speech about how you love us blah blah blah?" Beryl said, lifting the glass to her mouth.

Isobel touched her arm to stop her drinking, "No. Much more serious. You see, Valentine's, well, Richard proposed…" she paused, taking in their expressions. "…And I said yes."

"What?!" Beryl gasped, "I can't cope with this! First Anna hitching it up the aisle and now you."

"Well, not quite yet. And it will only be small. Very small. Low key."

"Don't make it so small we can't see it," Beryl laughed, tapping her glass against Isobel's. "Good for you darling, make the most of every day is what I say."

"Elsie…?" Isobel asked timidly. "You don't think it's too soon?"

"What?" She shook her head, shaking herself free of her own selfish reflection, "Of course not." She smiled, leaning in to kiss her friend's cheek. "Congratulations, of course," she joined in the toast and took a long drink of her cocktail. "I'm really happy for you both. Richard must be ecstatic."

"Over the moon," Isobel smiled, "we both are actually. I didn't think I wanted marriage but when he said the words I just…" she pressed her hand against her chest.

"When you know, you know," Beryl said.

"How…?" Elsie started, but then a young lady arrived to escort them down to the spa and show them around the facilities.

"How what?" Isobel asked as the three of them followed the attendant through pale decorated corridors filled with the scent of lavender and the delicate chimes of relaxing background music.

"Sorry?" Elsie said.

"Just then, you said 'how' but then never finished."

"Oh," she shrugged, "How did he propose? I guess that was it."

"Just after dinner, we were walking home and he just stopped and asked, just like that. There's no ring yet, we'll go look for one together. I wanted to tell you both, before anyone else." She squeezed Elsie's arm, "I wanted to call straight after and tell you."

"But you were too busy doing something else, we know." Beryl said, holding the door open for them.

"Really Beryl," Isobel sighed, "One doesn't discuss their sex life in public."

* * *

It was raining in the afternoon, great sheets of rain that swung in diagonally against the car. They were partway to Beryl's house when it hit. Isobel and Beryl were laughing over something, a shared joke, and Elsie was focussed on the road ahead, gripping onto the steering wheel and staring at the white line along the middle of the road.

She turned into Beryl's drive, distracted, pretending by the weather.

Beryl leant between the seats, one hand on each woman's shoulder. "So, that was a grand day."

"Lots of fun," Isobel agreed, reaching up to squeeze Beryl's hand. "Let's go again soon, we don't do enough of that kind of thing. Fun things together."

"We used to, til you two shacked up with the opposite sex." Beryl teased. "Happy for you though," she added, leaning in to kiss Isobel's cheek. "Really happy. Nobody deserves it more."

"Thank you sweetheart."

Elsie breathed deeply, returning Beryl's hug and feigning a smile, but inside her heart felt leaden. Her skin prickled, her pulse racing.

"What's wrong with me?" Elsie whispered, watching Beryl run for the cover of her front door. Her voice cracked when she said it again, "What's wrong with me?"

Isobel turned slightly in her seat, her voice soft, full of concern when she spoke. "I don't know darling." She reached across to touch her arm, "But I want to help, I will try, if you let me."

Elsie lifted her head to respond, "I don't know where to start." She shrugged, "I see you making this decision and how happy you are, you seem content and secure and I feel such a mass of contradictions. I don't know what would be the bigger mistake; saying yes or continuing to say no."

"I can't answer that."

Elsie pushed the car into gear, "We best go, she'll wonder what's wrong." The vehicle jerked out into the road, and she slammed on the breaks at the red light at the junction, the rain soaked windscreen hampering her view. She wiped angrily at her face.

"I'm sorry," she gasped. "Risking your life."

"Pull up," Isobel directed, and Elsie turned the corner, indicated and came to a stop at the side of the road. "Now, let's be honest here." She opened her handbag, passing a handkerchief to her friend. "Will you be honest with me?"

Elsie nodded, "I don't make it my business to lie to people."

"No." Isobel breathed deeply, "But perhaps you're not being honest with yourself."

The rain pounded against the roof of the car, a thudding rhythm as Elsie lifted her eyes to meet Isobel's.

"Has this all just gotten out of hand, with Charles?"

"I don't know what –,"

"I mean, dating him, did it go too quickly? Moving in and then…"

"No," Elsie said quickly, interrupting. "Not at all, I'm very much," she closed her eyes. "I really do love him, I never thought I'd find anyone," she looked to her friend, eyes wide and moist with tears. "I want to be with him. That isn't the problem."

"And so, what then?"

"I don't know, I wish I did. It's like there's a niggling something here," she angrily tapped the side of her head. "I can't stop it, every time he mentions anything to do with marriage, commitment, I feel myself seize up and back away. I don't want to be like that, I don't want to push him away through my own faulty gene. There must be something wrong with me Izzy, I couldn't ask for me than he gives, I don't want more…"

"Oh darling," she pulled Elsie towards her, uncomfortably hugging her across the handbrake. "Nobody's pushing you into anything, nobody's rushing you. If you're not ready then so be it, if you're never ready…" she shrugged. "Then so be that too. Not everyone has to marry."

"I'm letting him down," Elsie said softly. "As much as he proclaims he's content, I know when he hears your news there'll be this disquiet in his soul. He's an old-fashioned sort, he likes to do things the right way and the next logical step for us is marriage."

"Can you find what stops you? Pinpoint it, I mean."

She shook her head, "God I wish I could, I wish I could dig it out like some defective worm." She laughed sharply, "My father always said I'd never marry, I was far too proud."

Isobel rolled her eyes, "Parents know how to fill you with confidence." She squeezed Elsie's hand, "Shall we go get a coffee somewhere, talk some more?"

Elsie wiped her face clean, "No, I can't. I promised Charles I'd be back, he's making something nice for dinner." She snuffled. "Thank you though, for listening to me ramble."

"You don't have to thank me, I'm your friend, that's my job." She touched her hand again, "There are a lot of people that love you Elsie, don't forget that."

* * *

 **Sunday 19** **th** **February**

At some point in the night they'd managed to swap sides in bed; Elsie was facing the door, Socks above her head asleep on Charles' pillow – he seemed to prefer it there, perhaps the smell of him comforted the kitten.

Elsie rolled onto her back, feeling Charles' hand move with her body. Her eyes were still closed and she felt him inch down the bedsheets, his palm ghosting over her stomach, over her ribcage, beneath her breasts.

Her skin felt like silk: warm, soft, inviting. He tilted his head forward and placed a kiss to her shoulder. Elsie opened her eyes, turned her head slightly to look at him.

"Good morning," he said. "I see we're in a threesome again."

She laughed at that, turning over to lean against his chest momentarily before kissing his cheek. He turned too then, facing her on their shared pillow.

"So, I've been meaning to tell you something."

"Oh?" He queried, yawning. "That sounds dubious, the Italian guy hasn't come back has he? Threatening my position in your bed."

"Don't be ridiculous. He'd never share his pillow with a cat."

Charles rolled his eyes, "Well, we're on thin ground with that. Only the fact you're so beautiful has swung it."

She smiled, running her fingers over his shoulder as she cuddled closer to him. "So, Izzy and Richard got engaged, on Valentine's."

Charles breathed slowly, "Oh."

"She told me yesterday at the spa."

"And you've been building up to breaking the news, or waiting til I was in a good mood?"

"Don't be…" she huffed, looking up at him. "Felt awkward, discussing it."

He shrugged, "It is what it is. _Thus goes everyone to the world but I, and I am sunburnt._ "

"That's something I don't get."

He brushed her hair from her face, noted her wide eyes, the slightly worried expression. "Look it up. Or I'll take you to see the play, an outdoor one would be great, maybe this summer."

She chewed her lip. "Be honest with me."

"Aren't I always?" He touched her face and she smiled softly; her eyes as blue as the ocean, the morning sun dancing over her beautiful face as she looked up at him. He felt consumed with joy, complete with it. And he wanted nothing more than to bathe in that wondrous feeling for eternity, to somehow breathe yet more life into it and watch it grow and flourish each and every day.

"Marry me," he said gently, "I do wonder why…" he shook his head and the joy and peace in her eyes was gone. He felt his chest deflate and he groaned, "Sorry, sorry. Shouldn't have said anything."

"Because of Izzy?" She pulled the bedsheet back up over her body, twisting towards him. "You ask again because of them?"

"Forget it, I should keep my mouth shut."

"No don't, don't be upset."

She turned over to face him, wide awake now, the restfulness of sleep quickly evaporated. "I don't want you to be angry with me," she moved her body so she was leaning over him, and kissed his mouth, holding his face in her hands. "It's not that I don't love you –,"

"I know that…" He interrupted.

"It's this feeling, something inside whenever you ask and I can't… I wish I could explain it."

"I wish I could get inside your head." He said, his tone slightly harder.

"I want to, I wish I could shake it. It's like something holding me back, something I'm unsure of and I hate myself for it because I love you, I know that, I'm certain of that. And I want us to be together."

"I'm gonna go have a shower."

"Don't go. I don't want us to argue, I hated those weeks."

"We won't argue."

"But you're hurt, I'm hurting you."

He sighed, "As I said, I brought it on myself, I should stop stupidly uttering the words."

She didn't want that neither; why did she have to be such a mass of contradictions? "Charles…"

"What's the feeling?"

"What?"

"You said there's something inside holding you back – what is it?"

"I…" she licked her lips, "Uncertainty maybe. Fear. Like something… it's like something is unresolved, like there's a piece missing. Whenever you ask I feel my chest pull tight, like I can't breathe."

"Anxiety?"

"Maybe."

"I'm glad I evoke such a lovely response."

"Don't be… Oh God, I'm making such a mess of this." She flopped onto her back again, freeing him, and he got out of bed, sitting on the edge of the mattress and reaching for his dressing gown.

"I'll go get a shower."

She reached over to touch his back, "Sweetheart. I don't want to make you sad."

"You make me unquestionably happy 99.9% of the time." He said, getting up from the bed and reaching to squeeze her hand. "It'll be fine. It shouldn't matter so much to me, not really, we're here together. What more can there be…?"

Elsie licked her lips, sitting up, brushing her hair back from her face. "Shall we go for a walk? The weather is dry."

"Cold though," he said, "We'll go, let's drive up to the Moors, do a real walk."

"I do love you, Charles."

"I know. And I love you too. Always will."

* * *

 ** _Sorry for the delay - exam period and I'm in the process of moving house so mad busy times! xx R_**


	38. Chapter 38

**I needed time to think**

* * *

 _Mother dearest let me inherit the Earth._

 _Teach me how to make him beg. Let me make up for the years he made you wait._

 _Did he bend your reflection?_

 _Did he make you forget your own name?_

 _Did he convince you he was a god?_

 _Did you get on your knees daily?_

 _Do his eyes close like doors?_

 _Are you a slave to the back of his hand?_

 _Am I talking about your husband or your father?_

* * *

 **Chapter 38**

 **March**

Rain. Days and days of it. And the warm pallid mist that had hung around as a result.

They'd had lunch with Tom, Sybil, Robert and Cora; Cora who was only just coming forth from her grief, like a caterpillar pushing away the shell, only what's emerging is no butterfly. Still, she smiles again now, though there's something missing, and she doesn't touch Robert as often as she used to. The baby is something of a balm; she never let her go through lunch.

They had walked home, both a little tipsy after two bottles of red wine with a roast beef dinner. There was light drizzle by then, nothing to the seasoned British dweller, and it had clung to her eyelashes and the top of his hair, as they walked in rhythm, holding hands, swinging arms.

"Surprisingly warm," she'd said.

"It is," he replied, his thumb rubbing over hers and she was glad she hadn't invited Tom home with them for the afternoon.

She heard Charles' breath leave his body as he exhaled and the sound made her stomach clench, a two second twist, and the tops of her legs shivered at the thought of taking him inside her.

They ran the last two streets as the heavens cracked again, a roll of thunder announcing the onslaught, and then rain that bounced on the pavement and up the backs of her legs.

Elsie was panting with the exertion in the hallway and she'd watched him lock the door, dripping wet to the floor. They'd undressed watching each other and she'd raced him upstairs, Charles still in his socks and giggling like a schoolboy.

She is naked as she walks from the bathroom, and there's a bloom on her chest, a result of their lovemaking. Late afternoon, a grey gloom in the bedroom, and something warm between them. The business of living.

"I don't mind coming along," he said, watching as she brushed the tangles from her hair. "If you want me there."

She smirked, surprised at herself, "I want you everywhere I am now," she turned to face him, her bare back reflected in the mirror of the dressing table. "Do you think this makes me some sad little woman?"

He only raises his eyebrows in response, sitting on the edge of the bed, feet flat on the floor, naked and happy.

The look on his face beckons her to him, and she stands between his legs as he turns her around, the index finger of his right hand moving down her spine. Elsie closes her eyes, tilts her head back, lets her hair fall and feels him move it with his hands, his lips whispering over her skin.

"I love the shape of your back."

He kisses her with such tenderness, a softness of desire, and she thinks she could stand there forever; more than a late March day filled with rain.

She laughs when he tickles the base of her spine, bending his head down to kiss her bottom. It makes her laugh again and she bends forward, her stomach shaking as she turns to face him. He is laughing too, kisses her belly, looks up to her face.

"You look serene," she says, running her fingers over his face, dipping one into his mouth and letting him suck on it. His eyes never leaving hers.

She moves quickly as she straddles him, sitting in his lap, legs curling tight around his back. He holds her, supports her bottom, grins up at the sunshine of her face.

"Let's stay here," she says, kissing him, "and just keep doing this."

"Alright," he mumbles, eager to kiss her again, to taste her all over, to feel her hips roll in time with his.

She gasps as he moves a hand between them, tilts her head back and lifts up her pelvis to let his fingers wander.

Next weekend she'll be in Scotland and yes, she wants him there, as complicated as making the arrangements might be, as easy as it would be for him to stay home with the kitten and work without the distraction of her.

And she is proving a constant distraction.

"I'll sleep all afternoon," he mumbles as she kisses her way down his neck. He is holding her tight and she feels safe in that embrace, able to move freely, knowing he'll hold her.

"It's already early evening," she says, stroking his hair back, feeling the tip of his penis press against her thigh. "And there's nothing wrong with just sleeping, it's Sunday, it's what they were made for."

* * *

A week later. A train to Scotland on another rainy day. There's a small village at the end of the journey and for some reason Elsie can't shake this oddness that's been building in her chest as they approach it, a disquiet about the entire thing. She suspects her father is ill. And she feels oddly detached from that, perhaps she has to be, perhaps to deal with it she must be cold, practical. She mustn't cry or show concern; that isn't them, he wouldn't appreciate it.

But there's something else, like a second skin coating her heart, something restraining its ability to beat solidly. The rhythm is off. It's been like this since Christmas, since the proposal, since snowy days in Brighton desperately trying to make their love whole. And it is whole, she doesn't doubt it, she worries at times it's still on shaky ground, but every day they're together and every day she finds herself warmed by that fact.

In her darker moments, she fears she's been born without the ability to make love work. Destined to be alone. Then she'll wake in his arms, feeling sick and empty, and he is warm and his heart is beating against her cheek and she falls deeply for him all over again.

He makes her laugh; his face is focussed, a frown upon the brow as he studies the newspaper and she giggles at his expression, closing her book and pushing it away.

"Something amusing?" He barely looks up.

"Your face, you look serious." She leans forward, pressing her elbows against the table. "What are you reading?"

"Politics."

She rolls her eyes, slumps back in her chair again. "Dullness."

"Come on, you enjoy our debates."

She fiddles with the ring on her finger, and a fleeting thought about her father noting its existence crosses her mind. "You only debate with me up to the point where I agree."

"Oh finally, I'm in the right. Or rather, you're moving over to _the right_." He laughs as she interrupts him.

"There might be nowhere else to go."

"Wait a second," suddenly he's in earnest, crumpling his paper, bringing it down slightly so there is no wall between them, simultaneously pushing his glasses down his nose. "Are you…? Could you possibly be saying that the government is doing a good job?" A smile was already forming as he said the words, the train rumbling on along the track.

"I would _never_ say that," she huffed. "Trusting Tory would go against everything I believe in as a member of the working class."

"You're hardly…"

"Well, maybe graduated to middle class now, but still working class roots. And they just – it's still about keeping the rich in their mansions and hunting foxes, isn't it. Dodgy deals."

"But you just said that May is doing a good job."

"I think she's competent, that's all. I prefer her to Cameron because she seems to me the type of woman to just get on with the job and not court the cameras, I don't think she's comfortable putting on a show, and he loved all of that and he pissed me off with it. So there." She's tempted to blob her tongue out.

He smiled again, slipping his glasses on and straightening The Times.

"Don't look smug," she said.

"I'm not. Glad you're not a Corbynista though."

She glanced out of the window, watching the green rush by; they were getting closer to home, the landscape had grown more rugged. "I feel let down by the lot of them; I've been Labour all my life and now we have this sorry pile of shit running around like headless chickens. Bloody Abbott for a start. Couldn't agree on which teabags to buy let alone how to run things. Can't trust any of them."

"That's a bit bleak."

"I feel morbid today."

She felt him look up sharply at that, his shoe nudging hers as the train jerked.

She looked at him, the cool concern in his eyes. His hair had grown longer of late and looked thick; its desire to curl hampered by the gel he'd applied. She imagined how he smelled, if she was sitting beside him she'd snuggle into his arm and sleep.

"I'll go get a drink, it's after midday, that means a G&T is acceptable. You want one?"

He shrugged, "Sure, make sure they have ice though. And see if they have sandwiches."

"Yes Mr. Carson."

* * *

They take their time at the hotel. She unpacks and changes as Charles disappears into the bathroom for an age. Jeans and a t-shirt now they're here, a cardigan and jacket against the cold, wind, rain. They use the same car rental every visit now, they're settling into a routine with it and she's not sure how she feels about that either – is it a welcome return to feel she can go home without hiding in the shadows? Not fleeting awkward visits but softening around the edges.

She can enjoy the landscape when Charles drives, and despite the weather she likes the crispness of it all. Yorkshire is her home now and she wouldn't swap it, but the rocky outcrops and angular lines of Scotland – greens, purples, greys – stretch out beyond her eye line and it's glorious.

Nina Simone is on the radio and they're still and paused as they listen to the words and the road passes: ' _a sky streaked with grey_.'

"Okay?" He asks, as he pulls around the last corner of the newly built estate and into the gravel drive. There's a tenderness to his voice that others might miss, he is gruff and precise; gentle and slow.

"A-ha," she snaps off her seatbelt, feels his hand squeeze her arm before she gets out of the car.

The joyful sound of her sister's voice fills the yard as she screams across the grass, barefooted and in her pyjamas, throwing herself into Elsie's arms.

"Elsie, I won the story prize."

"You've got no shoes on." Elsie rocks backwards on the heels of her boots as she captures the shorter woman, her sister's hair filling her face. "You won what?"

"Story prize, in our group, I got vouchers for clothes, I'm going to buy a new bra. I want a turquoise one like the one you had on at Christmas."

"Sweetheart, if you'd asked I would have gotten you one." She looks to Becky's face, serene and happy, "I can go with you, if you like, whilst I'm up here."

"Okay," Becky grips her hand. "How's your house, Mr. Carson?"

He chuckles, "My house is good, more importantly, how's yours?"

"I love it, and Munchkin does too, wait til you see him, he's gotted big."

"That's wonderful. You taught him well?"

"He can jump high now, Dada gets mad when he climbs the curtains though."

"Well, so would I," Elsie says as they cross the threshold. "Where is Dad?"

"Garden. Shall we have some pop, we've got Ribena?"

"Tea might be nice," Charles smiles closing the door.

* * *

Elsie found Doug in the back yard sweeping the dead leaves from beneath the hedgerow. She stood for a while silently watching; as a child she would watch him plough the fields, his shirt a sail in the wind. He was broad, strong, he could do anything. Now, the broadness remained but was soft around the edges; there was a definite sag to the shoulders, a tilt of the neck. He looked tired and she felt angry with him for pushing himself to do a task he needn't.

"Dad," she called out and he looked up abruptly.

"Oh, you're here then. Hello."

She sighed, inwardly deflated at his apparent mood. "Train was delayed a little but wasn't too bad."

"Good."

The wind picked up and scattered the leaves and he cursed beneath his breath and started over. Elsie watched, hands in her pockets, stretching open her coat and letting the cold in around her waist. She closed her eyes, lifted her face up to the blanket grey sky. There was moisture in the wind and it dropped on her eyelids.

"Dad," she said again, her voice hoarse.

"Yeah. What you want?"

"Nothing," she snuggled her cardigan tighter around her again, closed her coat. "Come in, that doesn't need doing now. Come have a cup of tea with us."

"Won't take ten minutes."

Huffing she crossed the grass, her shoes sinking into the soft mud. "Why didn't you do her room?" She asked, this lifelong need to find an argument with him remained.

Doug dragged the rake through the leaves, "What?"

"Her room, it was meant to be decorated… you know, she wanted butterflies and that colour she picked."

"Not got time for that, I'm not superhuman."

Elsie bit her lip, "No, I'm not saying that. But the family would've helped. When we came up a few weeks ago you said –,"

"Don't come here and start moaning, you always start."

She bit her lip, counted to five. "I'm not moaning, just asking. Would you mind if we did it whilst we're here?" she felt incredibly awkward, she hated that he could still have these detached moods with her. "Charles and I? Would you mind if we got that paint on the wall at least, the colour she liked?"

"You do what you need to."

She nodded, "I'll leave you be. Will you come to dinner though? Just to the pub with us, later on, you know I'll pay."

"See how I feel."

She let her arms drop, "Dad, please, come on. Don't be difficult with me."

"Yes," he snapped. "I'll come."

* * *

When they left the pub Becky was asleep and Charles carried her to the car, lifting into the backseat where her head lay in Elsie's lap. It was a steady journey to their little bungalow, dark and stormy, the wind pushing back against the car and despite the surprisingly pleasant meal the dank atmosphere suddenly returned once they were closeted in a small space without Becky's air of happiness.

There were shadows lurking at the corners of Elsie's consciousness, so real once or twice she'd jerked her head to the window in expectation of seeing a face staring back. But there was only hers. Her eyes. She thought she looked vacant, pale and old. The sense of someone watching made her look up and she caught Charles' gaze in the mirror, watched him smile fleetingly at her then turn his attention back to the road.

She stared at the bits of him she could see; his shoulders, broad and clothed in a crisp white shirt, she thought of the many times she'd gripped hold of him there over the past year. Held on tight to him. Love was an odd emotion, something she wanted to hold as tightly as she held him; something she wanted to own and not prove elusive to her.

Becky moved in her lap and her fingers sunk into the warmth of her heavy hair. Even this love wasn't simple, everything tainted with a slit of guilt. Suppressed mostly, but there, like a forgotten stream waiting to rage.

The lights of the street woke her sister and she stared up at Elsie, wide eyes, innocent expression.

"Hi darling," Elsie whispered, and leant down to kiss her forehead. "I love you." She added, without thought. And the humans in the car breathed.

* * *

The men in her life sat in the other room listening to the evening news, awaiting a cup of tea. Elsie boiled the kettle, took her time making a pot of tea. Close up she noticed the grime along the side of the sink and clambering up the splashback.

She found a bottle of Dettol in the cupboard beneath the sink; slipped off her cardigan and cleared the surface before spraying the counter and wall tiles. They'd only been here a couple of months, and it was a newly built house – how was it already in such a state? Clearly her father was struggling more than he let on.

"What you doing now?" Doug's voice was gruff and it made her jump when he came into the kitchen. "Always up to something, can't be still, never could." He stood at the end of the counter, a mug clutched in his hand.

"Cleaning. I thought you were watching the news with Charles."

"Your boyfriend's asleep."

She smiled at that – a heavy dinner and a glass of wine and he was usually ready for a nap.

"I'll do this then wake him, go back to the hotel."

"You could have stayed, needn't have paid out."

"There's hardly much room for the two of us, besides, I don't want to be in your hair. We survived Christmas together in the same house, don't want to push it too much."

Doug snorted, "Funny old thing."

Elsie rinsed out the cloth, noting the chipped polish on her thumbnail from scrubbing the tiles clean. "Why didn't you tell me you were struggling?"

"In what regard?"

"The fridge is empty for a start, if you'd have told me I would have sent money, or done a food order online to be delivered." She threw the cloth down, turning to face him, drying her hands on a towel. "Maybe that's what we should do, I could do an order every fortnight, get it delivered here, then you don't have to worry."

Doug said nothing, he pushed his mug across the damp surface towards the sink.

"The cleaning too, I could hire someone…"

"Don't go wasting your money, we're fine, we'll manage."

"I'm hardly convinced by that Dad when there's dust and grease built up along the wall – this is a new house."

"My money paid for it, can treat it how I want."

"Don't be so bloody pig-headed, that's hardly what I meant. I'm worried about you, both of you, I want to go home and know you're okay."

"Clear your conscious, you mean."

"No." She said resolutely. "I want to know I'm doing all I can to make life comfortable for my father and my sister."

"You didn't give us a second thought the first time you left."

"Oh god," she turned back to the sink, filling the bowl with water and squirting in washing liquid. "Are we really coming back to this? Again."

"Does he know?"

"Who?"

"Charles. This great love. Does he know what happened _before_ you left?"

She stiffened; his words hinted at something buried so deeply in the attic of her mind she struggled to determine if it was reality or dream.

"Elsie." He prompted. "You say you share _everything_ with him. Did you?"

There was nothing he could have said that would have stunned her more or caused more immediate pain.

"Why would you say that?" She whispered, hardly daring to breathe. "I haven't thought about it in decades, let alone ever imagined saying a word about it." She looked at his face, lined with years of pain and hard work. Lined with loss. "Nobody knows."

Doug licked his lips, "You can't pretend –,"

"Don't." She shook her head, her eyes burning, voice desperate. "Don't talk about it. Ever."

"It hurt us all. Your mother and I…"

"How can you even try to bring it up? Why would you? Why now after all these years of dogged silence."

"Elsie –," Charles interrupted. "Are you alright?"

The desire to hide in his embrace was only topped by the embarrassment she felt. Still, after all these years, the thought of it made her want to curl inside herself and die. She felt her cheeks flush and her heart pound.

"Shall we go?" She said. "I'm tired."

"Sure. If you're ready."

"I am." She reached for her cardigan, not stopping to put it on but making her way out of the kitchen and to the door. "I'll call tomorrow, Dad." She said, before leaving.

She'd started the car before Charles had even fastened his shoe laces.

* * *

In their hotel room, she told him she needed to wash and stood behind the bathroom door with a towel over her mouth as she cried. On the other side Charles undressed, readied himself for bed, laughed at the repeat of QI and joined in with the banter as if the hosts were in the room. She sat on the floor until her shaking had subsided and watched a tiny spider crawl along the edge of the shower tray.

Lightning struck and she thought of how Becky hated it. She hoped she'd sleep through it, undisturbed.

When her make-up was gone and her teeth clean she put on the complementary robe and got in bed, lying down beside him and listening to the show.

"You alright?" Charles asked, toying with the remote.

"Mm, he was just in a bad mood today, old man mood."

"Seemed a bit snappy, you think he's not coping?"

"Why?"

"Things I noticed – there was a pile of mail stuffed into the newspaper basket."

"Bills I suspect," she sat up, suddenly feeling warm, and removed the robe, throwing it to the bottom of the bed.

Charles watched as she flopped back into bed, her bare breasts bobbing about as she moved, squashed together as she turned on her side to look at the television over his arm.

"I'll look at them tomorrow. Thought we were over all this shit now the farm is gone, maybe I was wrong, maybe making him move has made things worse."

"You weren't wrong, it'll just take time."

She rested her hand on his stomach, uninterested in the laughter on the television. She felt disorientated and bothered by something and she wanted to forget it all.

"Make love to me," she said, and his eyes registered surprise.

"You're in the mood?"

She laughed at that, feeling her heart register happiness as she did so. "It's a stormy night in a hotel in Scotland – kinda sexy."

"The question is," he said, turning off the television. "How quickly can I undress?"

* * *

When he is inside her, and his mouth on her neck, that slow steady rhythm they've had with nobody else is present. The squally showers are against the glass and she's gasping for something – air, life, him. Wrapped around him, clinging to him, and his kiss never stops. She wants his touch to take away the agony inside, to drive the bitterness from her.

"I love you," he mumbles by her ear, driving forward, one hand clasping the headboard above her. "I love you, God knows how I do." He repeats, urgent and intoxicated by her and then he realises she is crying. There are sudden hot tears on her face and he stops, frozen, ashamed of his pleasure in the moment. "Elsie?"

She covers her face, "I'm sorry," she suddenly cries and pushes him back, trying to shift her pelvis.

"Wait, sweetheart…" he moves as slowly as he can, trying not to hurt her and she turns onto her side, away from him, to the cold side of the bed.

Behind her he is helpless. He doesn't understand the source and he's seen her cry before, has heard it, but her sobs into the pillow are pure anguish and he's never imagined she had such a depth of pain inside.

"Darling," he whispers, pressing his fingers to her shoulder. "You have to help me here, because I don't know what's wrong and I want to help." She doesn't shift and her cries seem uncontrollable, like a sudden burst of something held taut for years.

"Elsie," he says again, carefully shifting closer to her, the warmth of his presence against her. "My darling, please, this is… Did I hurt you? Was it me?" There's a jerk of her shoulders and he knows he isn't the cause even before he asks. "Your father, something you were talking about –,"

"I can't," she gasps, lifting her face from the pillow. "Please stop because I can't, I can't."

"You can't what?" He squeezes her shoulder. "You can't tell me?"

She pushes herself forward, her tears slowing.

"I've never… Nobody has ever known." She can't seem to breathe evenly and she keeps covering her face, embarrassed, trying to hide. Everything is so open with him, always has been, right from the off; they strip the other right to their soul and all is laid bare.

"You can tell me anything," he rests his palm on her back, coaxing her body around to his. "You know that. Anything. I thought we'd established that."

"Some things," she starts, then stops, breathing deeply, scrunched up beside him, staring at the ceiling and the shadows of the rain. "It never stops, this weather."

"Time of year," he is uncomfortable, laying as they are, but he won't move away. He gives her time, minutes of silence as her trembling begins to subside. "Tell me. I can help."

She closes her eyes at the sudden pain of even thinking the words, "I feel ashamed."

"You never have to, not with me."

She looks up at him then, red faced and glassy eyed, "I'm sorry, throwing you off like that at such a time."

"As if that matters."

Seconds pass and she's silent again, leaning against his arm, listening, breathing, debating in her mind the consequences of saying what needs to be said. There is too much at stake, so many life choices made upon the agony of this experience.

It is the last of her darkness, the thing buried the deepest.

"I got preg-nant," she says flatly, the words almost monosyllabic.

His inhaled breath is shaky but he keeps any emotions to himself. "Geoff?" He doesn't need to ask but she nods. He wants to ask more but waits; he has learned that Elsie Hughes shares when she needs to and if she's pushed or coerced you lose her.

"My parents wanted me to abort it," she looks up but not at him, afraid to meet his eyes. Instead she stares at the wall behind his head, the place where Jesus hangs on a cross above the bed. "I couldn't do it. Call it faith, stupidity, this dreamed up scenario of having his baby and living quaintly."

"You were very young."

"Too young. That night, when I found he didn't want me, and I walked home in the rain over the fields, I could hear its heartbeat in my ear and I couldn't do it, even then." She swallowed, closing her eyes, licking her lips. "I don't know what the hell I thought I was going to do. So stupid and full of shame and yet this tiny little imaginary hope that somehow it would work out…"

He stares at the corner of her eye as she lies on her back beside him, the flutter of her eyelashes as she breathes. _There was a child._ He has no right to feel selfish over that fact, the very idea is ridiculous, but he does. It irks him that such a terrible man and such a fucked-up situation could result in Elsie having a child.

"It died." She stated, smashing through his musings. "I needn't have worried. Can you imagine? How would I have even begun to cope with… and it was painful, a night I woke in agony and blood and he wouldn't take me to the hospital."

She is crying again and Charles is struggling to follow her train of thought; piecing together the fragments of story she's uttering.

"Your father?"

"He wouldn't drive me, mum forced him and she took me in and I was in a room with nurses and she left…" she gasped at the memory, that stab in the chest of realising she was alone, completely alone and terrified. "They left me there alone and I didn't know what to do," she squirmed around, sobbing again as those old feelings, long burned and scattered, returned like embers flaring up at the slightest hint of oxygen. "I didn't know what to do and they left, they left –,"

He held her tight to him, grasping her to his chest and cradling her trembling body. "I'm not going to leave you, never, whatever you tell me, whatever happens, I'm right here. I won't leave." He kissed her head, repeated the whispered words of reassurance as she cried against him – a terrified young girl all over again.

* * *

"Remember being young?" She said later into the stillness of the room. "And going out with your parents, shops or something? And then you turn round and you can't see them. Can't find them. There's this sinking hole inside, instant panic grasping and the anxiety is immediate. Do you remember that? Wanting to cry when you saw them again through the crowd."

"I remember. I lost my mum at the fair aged nine and cried like a baby."

She turns over, reaching for a handful of tissues to wipe her face. Her hand disappears beneath the bedsheets and he realises what she is doing, "Sorry," she whispers, "sticky thighs."

"No need to apologise. We shouldn't have started – you should have said."

"I wanted to feel good. Forget."

"Some things you need to remember."

"I try not to think of it. I've spent years forgetting. But sometimes I recall that feeling, being completely alone, I never realised until that point how terrifying it can be relying on others. They left without a word to me because the shame of having a pregnant daughter was so…" she paused, took a breath. "Different time, different place, nowadays nobody bats an eyelid but then."

"I know."

"He died. The baby."

He noticed how she stated the harder parts, simple declaratives lacking emotion, maybe that made it easier to cope with. "Did you see him?"

"No. Nobody said – I didn't know, I was clueless as to my rights and they looked at me like it was probably for the best. This tiny slip of a girl and a five-month imperceptible bump really. He was scooted off after the operation and I was hidden away behind some curtain at the back of a ward."

"So you don't," he found this impossible to comprehend. "you don't even know if they buried him."

"I can't focus on that Charles," she started, tears in her voice. "Because it hurts too much. I didn't know what to do." She said again and he appreciated that, he couldn't imagine being in that position and having any sense of reason or power, never mind being abandoned by those she trusted the most. Three adults doing a pretty shit job all-in-all.

"Do you understand now why I didn't go back? For years and years I couldn't stand to see them, it was too hard. I felt ashamed and guilty, cowering to them for what I'd done. But inside I wanted to scream and shout, they hurt me so much more than any man has ever… My mother…"

She breathed again, turned to face him, slipping higher up the pillow so she was by his face. "I can hardly look at you."

"Why?" he touched her face, brushed her hair back delicately. "There's no judgement, only sorrow for what you went through."

She bit hard on her lip, and he noted the slightest hint of doubt in her clear eyes.

"Elsie, I love you, the thought of you being in pain, of anybody hurting you, it fills me with sadness."

"You do take it away though," she said softly, "this past year – the things I've carried for so long, like some blade in my chest, you take it away. I've tried to understand why I find it so hard at times to open up to you or take a step forward. I keep telling myself it just takes time but what if I can't? What if I'm incapable of giving you what you need? Damaged goods. I'm worried that I won't ever be enough."

"You are everything to me. Beyond anything I ever imagined finding in a relationship. And it does just take time, we're both still learning. Do you think it was easy for me to open up to you about William? No. But now I wouldn't have it any other way, because as messy and difficult as the whole thing is there's a weight lifted from my heart. None of this is easy. I'm a reserved, rigid, old-fashioned idiot the majority of the time and you… well, you aren't any of those things. Maybe that's what works, you've certainly made me face up to things like I never have in my life. And I can see a _future_ , I see these things as little challenges before we get to clear water. But I'm certain we'll get there."

He leant forward and kissed her forehead, holding his mouth against her skin for longer than necessary, stroking the back of her head with his fingertips as he did so.

"Whatever you need to do," he said, "whatever you need to face up to, I'm right there behind you." He slid his arm over her waist, pulling her closer to him. "Thank you for telling me. I can't imagine how much effort that took."

"I've never said the words aloud before. I daren't even think them at times. I daren't think of 'him', of what he would have been." She swallowed, shifting her mind to something else. "The Doctor said, at the time, it would be difficult for me to conceive so you can understand my shock last year when that scare… the irony of it."

He nodded, realisation dawning.

"I kept hurting myself. I've done it for years. These casual things with unsuitable men because I didn't want to risk finding somebody I might care about and then you and this… Us. I never imagined I could feel this way and it terrifies me all over again."

"I can understand that. I think we're all scared, ultimately, that's what life is."

She wiped her face again, "Sorry, keep crying like an idiot."

"Nothing to apologise for," he kissed her forehead again. "You cry away."

"I don't understand why he brought it up, why it was on his mind – to hurt me? To shock me or make me question what we have? I don't know what's in his head."

"Then ask him, have it out with him. Elsie, I think the time for you to get angry and be allowed to be angry is long overdue."

"I know, but he's an old man. And he's not a bad man, he never was."

"No," Charles took a sharp breath – it was now or never. "But perhaps… Geoff was."

She looked up at him, pressed tight against his chest now, wrapped snugly in the bedsheets with him.

"I don't think he's a good man, Elsie, and I don't think what he did was right. I mentioned it before and you brushed it off but not now. I think he led you on."

She was about to answer but he stopped her.

"I think he groomed you, in a way, though it wasn't called that then and we certainly didn't know it existed in the forms we do now. But I think he saw a beautiful, bright young woman who was confused and felt trapped in this place and a life that had already been decided for her and he indulged your crush because it suited him. And he told you exactly what he knew you needed to hear to get you to that point. And more than that…" he felt his eyes cloud over as he looked at her. "More than that I think you know sweetheart, I think you've known for a very long time and you don't want to admit it because it means letting go of your guilt and your shame and the memory of it all – the dream of having a baby and a home with the man you loved. It means forgiving yourself because it wasn't your fault." He wiped away her tears with his thumb, "Because it really wasn't darling, despite what the people around you thought, it wasn't."

* * *

He is amazed by her resilience. Her ability to act. Less than eleven hours ago she was crying to him, confessing fears and heartbreak. Now she is pristine.

This is the public Elsie he's come to know. Hair and make-up in place, a fabulous dress, the smile, the aura. It could bother him, but he understands why she's done it, why she feels she needs to.

She leads the way to the table through the busy pub and they sit by the back doors, the ones that lead out to the garden and play area. A few children with red noses and trailing scarves dash past every now and then, frozen from playing on the slides, and Becky is eager to join them out there but instead watches her sister closely, imitating her as best as she can. She swallows up every movement and word Elsie makes and saves them up to use when she's out in public on her own.

"I'll go order," Elsie says, closing her menu.

"No, I will." Charles insists. "My treat today, so, what do we all want?"

"Can I come Carson?" Becky is already getting up. "To pick my straw."

He smiles, "If that's what you want."

"She likes to look at the pizza oven," Doug explains. "It's at the other side of the bar, she likes to watch them being made."

Charles nods, takes the orders, and the two head in the direction of the bar.

Alone, and with things still so raw, Elsie finds words come more freely than they would if she'd had time to really think and plan.

"I'm going to arrange for a carer to come in," she states, no room for argument. "Once a week. Someone to shop, clean, make sure the bills are paid and Becky is being taken care of." She holds up her hand before he can reply, "There's no discussion, Dad, it's happening."

She turned over the beer mat in front of her, momentarily fiddling with it as she took a moment. "I told him." She said to the table and then looked up to his sad eyes. "You hurt me last night, and I don't know why, that bothers me, that you would seek to hurt me. But, as a result, I told him. So, whatever your plans, whatever you thought you could do –,"

"Good," he interrupted. "I'm glad you told him, you needed to tell him because you need to let go of it. I'm a miserable old sod Elsie, I'm well aware of that. But to think I don't care about you or your future is bollocks. And if you think I don't feel guilty every single day of my life for leaving you to go through that alone then you're deluded." He paused, registering her surprise. "Charles will love you and care for you for the rest of your life. But only if you let him. And only if you let go of what that bastard did to you."

Her mouth is open, heart pounding, but words not forthcoming as Becky returned to the table, sinking onto the bench next to Elsie and holding out a green plastic ball. "Look, Carson gave me 50p and I did the machine and now I won this."

"Oh," Elsie's mind was whirling. "What's inside?"

"Carson said a spider! I'm hoping a dinosaur." She giggled, "It's stiff though," she held it out across the table. "Daddy?"

Doug took the ball and snapped it open and a tiny plastic butterfly tumbled across the table towards Becky.

"Oh, we were both wrong," she stated, picking it up.

"Sometimes, everyone is wrong." Doug said, "Doesn't mean something beautiful can't come of it." He picked up the plastic ornament and squeezed the centre, causing the wings to flap up and down.

Becky clapped her hands and took the butterfly from her father, imitating his movements. She giggled in delight and Elsie smiled as she watched her younger sister, her eyes jerked down to her hand when she felt a feathery touch upon her fingers. Her father briefly patted the back of her hand and she closed her eyes to resist the urge to cry.

* * *

Elsie didn't drink with lunch. In truth, she felt rather detached from the entire thing.

When they'd taken her father and Becky home in the afternoon she drove away, drawn to somewhere in her memory. Perhaps she'd been drawn there the entire journey, since sitting in the train carriage watching the rain. The emptiness in her chest beat, expanding, withdrawing; shrink then repeat.

Silence and a climb through the Scottish landscape, cracks of sunlight through purple skies and the distant snow topped hills in the distance. Winter hadn't quite left those mystical lands.

When the tyres stuttered over the uneven rocks of the private road she swerved into the grassy verge and stopped. Gripping the steering wheel and staring ahead as the engine hummed, waited for its next instruction.

Charles stayed where he was, watched her climb down to the road and do a three-sixty as she took in the fields from every angle. Not much had changed, there were still sheep, goats hiding in the long grass, rubbing against the barks of trees. That slightly sweet headiness of animals, flies in the air. The dirt track was yellow with gravel now, and the house on the hill greyer perhaps. She shivered as she stared at the blind forehead of the building, at the upper window where a bedroom she knew well lay.

Her feet moved. Her calves creaked as they climbed towards the heavy gate she'd perched on top of in pigtails and shorts, grazed knees, blue eyes sparkling in the sunshine as she'd swung back and forth.

She could hear the sound of her laughter. A fragrance in the breeze, something she knew well.

Charles followed at a distance; cautious, silent, the pulse at his temple thumping as his mind registered where they were and what it meant to her to be back. A lifetime away and it still stands, real and solid. Not a fragment of imagination.

She wanders to the barn, heels caked in mud, the stench of cows and the afternoon vapours blowing in the wind.

There's a stone wall surrounding the property and Charles leans against it as he waits. The house looks empty, dead, and he wonders who farms the land now. Many farmers rent out the land, other areas have been purchased by one central figure in the area who has no interest in the farming community beyond making money from the land. Old ways have gone. It could be beautiful here, he thinks, but there's too much grey and darkness sneaking around.

"You want something?" He stands tall, immediate, questions shrieking through his mind as he finds the location of the snapped voice.

Things move in synchronisation as he starts to speak, then stops as he spots Elsie coming towards them, the three of them in a triangular structure. He thinks of pincer movements and steps back, out of the equation – this is for her and he'll be there if she needs him.

The old man turns expectantly, and she'll wonder later if he sensed her the way she did him.

He is rugged, sunken and lined; thick white hair where it used to be black, the uniform he wore when she was young remains – a flat cap, the heavy material of working clothes, but now he looks ancient and she feels triumph in that.

"Elsie?" His voice questions, not that he can't believe it's her, but that she's here. He is close by her when he says her name again and she is amazed by how big he still seems despite his age. "Elsie," a soft voice, reverent.

Her hair blows in the breeze, the hem of her skirt gently lifted and floating upon it, like smoke in the air filling this back end of the earth with beauty and goodness.

"Still beautiful," he says and lifts a hand to touch her.

She didn't know how she'd react to seeing him. None of it was planned or thought through. But the idea of his hand on her skin makes her flinch to life and she slaps him away, and then she can't stop. A hand to his face, a thump to his chest, pushing him back, away from her. Years of suppression, blame and self-hatred filling that silent spot with anger. What was dead lives again as she screams her frustration.

He pulls away, she slips in the mud and Charles is there, ready to stop her seriously hurting an old man but he catches her before she hits the floor and she repeatedly roars, "I hate you," into the storm passing overhead.

* * *

Early evening comes gently. Creeps in as if it isn't wanted. From high up they can watch the clouds roll over the hills, the light change as the orange of sunlight softens the sharper angles of the landscape.

She was strong as she'd walked away and he let her drive despite his fears over her composure. She'd taken them back to a place he cringed to remember, where he'd blurted out a proposal without considering how to frame it best to reach her. Perhaps he hadn't realised at the beginning how it would take years of softness to find her truth. He wanted to wrap her in cotton wool and keep her safe but that wasn't who she was and suffocation would never work.

There was a spot she'd go as a young girl, a wall she'd walked upon, sat on and dreamt. She took him there to sit and be. Just for a moment. She didn't want to be alone, which surprised her, she wanted to be with him.

"My shoes are ruined," she said, and it was the first time she'd spoken to him since lunch. She lifted her legs to show him and there was lightness to her voice that brought relief.

Whether this was a breakthrough remained to be seen, but she seemed to see there was light out there, room to breathe freely. She didn't need saving, she never had, but his unshifting presence brought strength.

There was a blanket in her lap and she spread it over them, leaning purposefully against his arm until he lifted it around her. He kissed the side of her head and she closed her eyes momentarily, feeling the need to cry, the need to grieve. But it passed when she felt his heart beat beneath her cheek.

"So much space," he said, looking out over the land.

She scanned the area she used to know so well; high up here she used to feel free. She'd never taken anyone there, it was Elsie's land and there she could imagine a life beyond the circular rim of the distant mountains.

Growing up you never get the life you expect, but perhaps that was the point; there wasn't a start or end to it all, you were always starting again. Living.


	39. Chapter 39

_Sorry, moved now but very busy with decorating and gardening - at least now I have wifi back ;-)_

* * *

 **Chapter 39**

 **March**

Somewhere, a door slammed, and the vibrations woke her. An involuntary action, as her head jerked up from the pillow. Surprise at first, brain quickly registering where she was and what was happening, and then she grimaced as her neck cracked and the ache travelled down her muscles.

She laid back down, twisted her legs in the bedsheets and stared up to the ceiling. It was fairly light in the room, which must mean they were well into day time hours, but then she'd quite lost track of days and time.

In the hallway somebody was talking, she listened to footsteps, mumbled voices, laughter. She hated the sound of that, casual laughter, it filled her gut with jealousy and she wanted to throttle them for being easy-going and relaxed.

It had been three days and she had hardly spoken. Charles worried the most for her then. They were supposed to take the train home late Monday – they didn't. She was meant to be back at work on Tuesday – she wasn't. He called Anna, made excuses about illness and felt bad for lying.

Elsie had slept. And slept and slept. Woke and sipped at strong tea and managed a ginger biscuit, then slept again. Charles had hardly left the hotel room for fear of her waking to find herself alone.

He was surprised when he came from the bathroom to find her eyes open, it was mid-morning and she'd usually sleep through until at least lunch.

"Hi," he said gently, fastening the last of his shirt buttons.

Her eyes were wide and dark when she looked at him, almost surprised at his presence.

"Morning," she mumbled, making no effort to move. "Is it morning?"

"Just after ten, how you feeling?"

"Heavy head."

"I'll get you some water from the shop, don't drink the stuff from the taps in here, not sure it's any good." He folded back his cuffs, "You want to get up? Go out for some breakfast?"

She shrugged and closed her eyes again, "Up to you."

"Elsie," he said gently, and then changed his mind. "I won't be long, you have any special requests?" He teased, leaning over and kissing her cheek. He smiled, tried to lighten the mood.

"Just water."

* * *

He bought croissants from a bakery, along with the water, and a newspaper. If she was asleep when he returned at least he could read The Times and do the crossword for a while, stop his mind from drying out.

Somehow he had hoped the encounter would shake her up, drag her forward, but she seemed to be slumbering in the memories – it seemed to him, that confronting this old bastard should have been the end, all it did was stir things up. Now, she was floating somewhere on top of them and he realised that maybe things wouldn't be over until she'd really said what needed to be said, face-to-face.

He glanced at his phone as he turned the corner back towards the hotel; a group email from Izzy reminding them about the engagement party coming up. He wanted to go, they should go, they were close friends after all, but he wasn't sure if Elsie was in any kind of state – then again, he'd never met anyone better at adopting a mask when the situation required it.

By the traffic lights he caught sight of a figure he knew well, tall, head down, shoulders slouched in the battered wax jacket he wore. He upped his pace, heading towards Douglas. The street was heavy with traffic and the drizzle of rain; the storms had passed but the lightest remains hung around clouding the town in grey and damp.

"Doug," he called, breaking into a jog. He didn't want him seeing Elsie before she was prepared for it. "Doug!" he shouted at the old man's back.

Douglas turned, frowning at the sound of his name, then relaxing when he saw it was Charles, waiting by the side of the hotel for him to catch up.

"Morning," he said, breathing heavily. "You're wanting to see Elsie?"

Doug nodded, "She's been moody, on the phone, wanted to check on her is all."

Charles sighed, "Waited long enough," he said pointedly then added. "Bout time we got some things straight."

"I'm not here to be told off young man," Douglas almost laughed. "Judgement passed," he wiped the rain from his eyes. "I'm here to see my daughter, to tell her to buck her ideas up and get herself out in the world. She's been in bed for the past two days."

"Yes, well, you may very well do that. But I don't…"

Douglas turned away, gripping hold of the handle on the hotel door.

Charles caught hold of the old man's wrist, he hadn't meant to, and once he was holding it he instantly felt angry with himself for doing such a thing. Despite appearances to the contrary, Doug was elderly and he was frail and grasping his paper-thin skin in his fingertips made him realise both things as a jolt.

Still, the words were out his mouth before several elements of his brain kicked in.

"Don't hurt her," he said forcefully, then breathed, felt each pathway connect. "I mean it," he loosened his grip. "Don't you dare hurt her."

* * *

"I would have killed him," her father said plainly. "Shot him right between the eyes, had your mother not stopped me. I was there."

"You were where?" Elsie mumbled into the mug of tea clasped in her hands.

"The farm, the night… when you were in the hospital." He licked his lips, his jaw clicking with tension. "We thought you were going to die. My girl…" he sloped off, remembering, and Elsie's eyes filled afresh with tears. She closed her eyes and lay her head back on the propped-up pillows, still exhausted.

"I beat the hell out of him, and he let me. Just that bit younger, stronger, but he let me. And your mother sat in the van crying." He looked to Elsie's face, so like her mother these days it unnerved him. "I fetched the gun, I'd been out for rabbits that day, and he was just another vermin so I would have taken him down too."

"Dad –,"

"Your mother begged me, screaming, ranting, holding on to the barrel of the gun. So…" he shrugged. "…we went home, to Becky, and waited for news."

"I was alone." She stated, the emotion raw. "You left me, my parents, the most horrific thing…"

"We didn't know what to do," he interrupted. "I only know how to protect and, and how to take care of you. Feed, clothe, warm house –,"

"Taking care of someone is more than that."

"What do you want from me? To say 'sorry'? I am, more than you can know. But it's all I know, Elsie, I was never shown love as a child, affection, it wasn't the way. When I was troubled or hurt I was slapped round the head and told to get on with it. Your mother was the same, if not worse, your Gran was a tyrant."

"I remember."

"Time after time your mother was reminded that they didn't want a girl, girls were weak, useless. I never felt that about you, ever, nor Becky. I do love you both, unconditionally."

Hot tears poured down her face as he said those words and she nodded her head, feeling faintly ridiculous and angry with herself for lying there in a pit of self-pity for so many days. Years.

"It's hard for me to say, to be clear. I can't find the words, I'm not smart like you, or your Mr. Carson. You're more than this place, you always were; intelligent and eloquent and too bloody quick-witted. We knew that, we're your parents, not blind. And we knew you needed more, to leave here, to travel. As much as we tried to bind you, marry you off – some farmer's wife, that's all we knew, for safety, you see. I don't think I ever really believed you'd do it."

He squeezed her leg where it was under the duvet, "Come on lass, buck up, it's the past now and you're more than him too, he's still vermin and he's suffered in the long term – family gone, scraping by. Who gives a fuck about him now?"

She never often heard her father use that word and the sound of it made her laugh, an odd sound in a room filled with tears.

"It's time to let it go," Doug said, handing her the box of tissues from the side table.

"I never think of… of him, the baby. I try to pretend it never happened, that he never existed."

"Denial is one of my traits," he sighed, "would it help if I showed you something?"

"As in?"

"Let's visit your mother's grave, I go every week, let's go together."

Elsie nodded, she hadn't been for years and never with her father.

"Then get up. Becky is at her club, she finishes at 3:30 and I don't want her to have to go to the graveyard, it upsets her too much. So get dressed, stop moping."

Elsie smiled at his ability to doll out instructions, it was clear whom she'd inherited that particular trait from. "Yes Dad."

* * *

Charles drove them to the cemetery not far out of town, an uncomfortable journey, the radio babbling on in the background only emphasised their silence even more. It was too warm, so he turned off the heating; too cool so he turned it back on.

The light was a lavender grey, overcast yet bright, and he pulled down the sun visor to protect his eyes as he parked.

"Want me to come?" He asked quietly, glancing at Elsie.

She shook her head, briefly touched his leg and then was gone – out of the car and following her father. Charles sat back, wound down the window and let the breeze wipe his face. He watched them walk until they were out of sight, until he could no longer see Elsie's hair or hear the sound of her voice in the air.

He closed his eyes, and dozed.

* * *

"She was sorry," Doug said, watching at a distance as Elsie bent to clear dead leaves from her mother's grave. The storm had left debris and for some reason she felt the need to rid the earth of it. "She was angry too, at me mostly."

Elsie looked over her shoulder at him, "Why?"

"Because she left with me instead of staying with you in that hospital. You always need someone to blame."

"She should've blamed me."

He held his breath then shook his head, "No."

She pushed her hands against the wet ground and felt the kneecaps of her jeans saturate as she applied pressure and then got to her feet. "I missed her. Even before she died, I missed her after I'd left. Something changed, I didn't only lose the baby, I lost something I never realised I had until it wasn't there anymore. Security."

He nodded, "She missed you too. She spoke of you daily, without fail. She read your letters and re-read them and re-read them. Don't ever think your absence was a casual thing."

Elsie sank down onto the bench where her father was already sitting, wiping angrily at the fresh tears lining her face.

"What did you want to show me?" She said gently.

He breathed deeply, "I'll tell you this for comfort, not to bring hurt."

She narrowed her eyes, gripped her nails into the palm of her hand as she waited.

"Your baby was cremated."

His words were so solemn she had to repeat them in her head several times to make them make sense. Cremated. Cremated. Her baby.

"We had the ashes, we collected them and we didn't…" he coughed, sank his head down and stared at the ground. Shame. "We kept the ashes hidden from you, we thought it best, your mother thought it best, so you wouldn't cling on to something."

"So instead you let me wonder for all this time?"

"I'm not saying anything we did was right."

"Well halle-fucking-lujah!"

"Elsie."

She groaned, hiding her face in her hands. She wanted to be angry but the truth was she was too tired to be angry. There was none left.

"When your mother died, the urn with his ashes in… we'd hidden it for years in the back of her wardrobe. Sometimes, I'd catch her saying something to it, it was some kind of link to you perhaps. And she regretted it so, that entire business. She felt she'd let you down by not noticing a change, by not being able to stop the relationship with you and him. Then with the loss, and you leaving so soon after. It was like grief, day after day."

She snuffled, fishing about in her pocket for a tissue and wiping her nose.

"When mother died," she pressed, "you were going to say something happened when she died."

"I put the urn in the coffin with her." He held his palms up, "I know you'll think that selfish and cruel, but I thought what better place for him than with his grandmother? She'll care for him."

"I don't think that cruel at all," she managed to say, breath leaving her.

Doug drew her to him and she pressed her face into his chest, sobbing out the last of her grief to her father.

* * *

"But you'll be okay?" Charles asked, taking Elsie's bag from the car. "I can stay."

"No, you have a job and besides the kitten needs one of us at home, we can't rely on Anna forever. He'll be lonely."

Charles smiled, pulling her to him, "And what about me, I'll be lonely."

"You'll have each other."

He kissed the top of her head, hugging her tight, "Call me though, whenever you need to, don't worry the time."

"Will do." She looked up at him, "I'll be fine. I just need a few days with them. I can stay at the bungalow, spend time with Becky. I just need that."

"I know."

"I'll be home before you know it."

"Hope so, never slept in that bed alone before."

She smiled, leaning up to kiss him, holding onto him. "Love you," she whispered. "And I'm so thankful you've been here with me through all this."

"Always." He kissed her again, "Take care, Elsie Hughes."

"I will. Call me when you get home tonight, won't you?"

He nodded, reluctantly letting go of her and getting in the car.

"And make sure you smother Socks with love."

He rolled his eyes, "Yeah, yeah. He'll get half of whatever I have for dinner."

"Don't let him eat crisps again."

He chuckled at that, recalling being scolded by her for allowing the kitten to munch on a Cheese and Onion crisp one lunchtime. "Only the best for him."

She kissed him one last time, "See you soon."

* * *

Had Charles known of her intentions he might never have left. But then Elsie was no fool, she knew he'd have wanted to be there, that he would have been sturdy and stoic and glared at the man in question. And there were things she needed to say, and hear, that perhaps only could happen if she was alone with him. If life had taught her anything it was how to handle men – even those she detested.

It was clear, from the moment Geoff entered the café, that this was not the Elsie Hughes he knew from the past. There would be no loving eyes or dependency. She sat straight, her head held high, she looked impeccable, different to the girl he knew – the innocent freshness was gone; she was aware of her beauty now, of her intelligence and power, and it shone out of her to such an extent he felt intimidated as he sat.

"Hello," he said gruffly, pushing his coat off his shoulders. "I was surprised to get your call, in fact I don't think anything has ever surprised me more."

She held his gaze, kept her voice steady though inside there was turmoil. "There were things I needed to say." There was a bruise on his cheek, a cut above his left eye, and she felt nothing at the fact she'd caused both.

"Not shout?" He offered, and she noticed how he grimaced at the pain in his back as he took a seat.

"No. Not shout, not now. I think I got that out of my system." She folded her hands together on the table top and breathed deeply. "In my mind, I never saw you as an old man," she said, studying his face. "I still saw you how you were then. Like you didn't age, only me. Do you realise how much power you held over me back then?"

He went to speak then stopped himself, staring at a spot on the wall above her head rather than making eye-contact. "We both made choices, Elsie. You knew what you were doing."

"Did I?" She paused, reflecting on it. "I knew it felt good to have the attention of an older man, someone respected in the community. Someone handsome and charming who everyone liked. It felt amazing, exhilarating that out of every girl in town you chose me. You showered me with attention…"

"…And you glowed in it," he interrupted. "You bloomed in it. So don't start saying now you didn't know. I never forced you. I never raped you."

"No, you didn't." They were both silent, then Elsie poured their tea; a metal pot and plain white cups. This was no fancy establishment, this was a place they'd chosen to be out of sight, out of the village. "That first time though, I didn't know what I was getting into. You can choose to believe that or not, but _I_ believe it, I feel it. And it's taken me a long time to be able to relive this, because I blocked it out for so long."

He held tight to his teacup, "I don't know what you want me to say. Want you want to hear."

"What I _want_ to hear… How about we just talk our truths?"

"My truth is that you were a pretty, bright girl who I had an affair with many years ago."

"And that's all it was?"

He stared at her, his eyes clouded grey now with age. "I'm an old man now Elsie, that was a lifetime ago."

"Yes. But it changed my life, changed the course of it, changed who I was. Most of all it ruined my relationship with my parents."

"I would never have wanted that to happen. Whether what I did was wrong or not –,"

She shook her head at that, incredulous that he could still perhaps see his actions as justified.

"– Your parents are decent sorts and I do regret that, messing up that friendship."

She briefly thought of telling him about the baby, but what would be the point now? And after all, that was hers, and she didn't want him polluting it in any way. There were some things too precious to share, especially with a man who didn't deserve any goodness in his life.

"I felt I couldn't say no," she said instead. "And then it went too far, too fast. I thought I was in love, stupid of me because that kind of control and treatment is not love. I thought that you were too, but you never loved me, did you?"

He sighed, then slowly shook his head. "No, I never loved you. I liked you, I thought you were a wonderful lass. But it was only ever meant to be fun, Elsie, a bit of fun. A distraction from this humdrum life we live up here. I never meant for you to fall so deep."

"But you never stopped it neither. Never."

"No, and I am sorry for that too. I'm sorry you got hurt."

"I think you're only sorry because I'm sitting here, I don't think you know what it means to feel sympathy or empathy."

"If you think that –,"

"Don't try to convince me otherwise. You dropped me as soon as I threatened your existence. You messed with my head." She stopped herself as her voice rose. "But…" she breathed deeply, determined not to let him see her vulnerable or broken ever again. "But. I am not under your spell anymore. I am not that same shy, inexperienced young girl."

"I can see that. If it means anything, I always knew you'd be successful, get out of here."

She shrugged, "It doesn't mean anything to me, nothing. Because _you_ are nothing to me now."

He kept silent.

The lines on his face were deep and ugly, his stubble sporadic, and she wondered for a second what she'd ever seen in him. She thought of Charles and his kind eyes and gentle touch, how he would listen to her, want to share her life not have her as some sort of trophy or a weakling to do what he wanted. They were partners. Equals.

She pushed her chair back, reaching into her bag for a fiver and dropping it to the table.

"I don't think there's anything else I need to say. Or hear."

She didn't give him time to respond, she got up and steadily walked out without looking back, getting into her father's waiting car in the car park across the road and leaving Geoff behind. Confined to the dark history of her mind.

* * *

The rattle of the track woke her, and she jostled to sit upright from her slumped position, her neck spasmed; a sharp twinge deep in her muscles and she instinctively reached to it, stretching her fingers out along her skin and rubbing.

She leant back in the chair, reached forward to the glass of water that sat in the middle of the table. She was alone at this half of the carriage and glad of it. She'd booked a later train because of the price – only £60 first class one way if you went later; £150 earlier in the morning. But a later train mid-week meant it was still, quiet, and she could doze, and breathe.

The train slowed as they approached a station, crept in under the old veranda, and she noted the sign, 'Darlington'; she was almost home.

Funny that, she'd left Scotland and now she felt home, over 200 miles away.

A tear rolled lazily down her cheek, she let it fall, kept her eyes wide open as she traced the feel of it tickling over her cheekbone, somehow warm, delicate, transparent. It was almost a fortnight since she'd seen Charles and the thought of being hours away from him made her chest ache.

He'd felt bad that he wouldn't be home to greet her, he was giving a lecture (she'd laughed on the phone when he'd used that word, telling him he best be wearing a gown and mortar board when she saw him), and wouldn't be home until early evening. Still, just the thought of being in their home, and seeing their baby again, she couldn't believe she'd missed a tiny animal so very much.

The time was needed though. The walks, the cold wind, the thin air. Being alone up there as when she was a child, just time.

She felt a stab of guilt when she thought of work and leaving Anna and Ethel in the lurch, but her logical mind justified it by pointing out how she'd been a workaholic her entire adult life. And she'd make it up to them, a surprise monthly bonus perhaps.

The weekend would bring Isobel's engagement party, and she didn't feel quite so much apprehension now about attending. She would wear a nice outfit, take a gorgeous gift, have fun, dance with Charles.

And there were other things to look forward to. Their holiday. Anna's baby. Charles' relationship with William warming up – he'd had dinner with him twice whilst she was away; the next time would be at their house and she'd meet him properly, as Charles' partner.

On the phone she'd found it difficult to find the words to express her love, how deeply she felt it, how much she understood it now the grey clouds of her past had cleared. And she wasn't an openly expressive person, neither was he really, but she would find small ways to show him perhaps, and thank him for what he'd brought into her life. Joy.

* * *

There was a wonderful warmness as he entered the hall, the fragrance of sweet bread, the lights on in the kitchen, the chatter of the radio, her presence. He dropped his briefcase, heard her coming towards him before he saw her and then she was there and feelings took over. He caught hold of her waist as she said hello, pulled her tight against him and covered her mouth with his as she laughed.

A delicious long kiss as she sagged back against the wall, her hand draped over his shoulder still gripped the tea towel and she sighed in the back of her throat. He parted briefly for air and then tiptoed delicate open-mouthed kisses over her lips as she smiled, arching up to him, returning the kiss.

"Missed you," he said, nuzzling her neck and she felt his hand on her bottom as he kissed her clavicle.

"Missed you too," she dropped her chin now to encourage him to shift and soon their mouths were meeting again. Without rush or care, like they'd never kissed before, like the first time all over again.

She giggled as he pressed against her, the belt of his trousers against her belly. "I'm making you dinner."

"Something smells good," he tangled his tongue with hers, his fingers swimming into the softness of her hair.

"Banana bread," she breathed heavily, "with cherries in, how you like it."

"Let's go to bed," he said hotly, sucking on her earlobe.

She giggled again, one hand on his chest to bring space between them. "I've cooked for you."

He grinned down at her, his hair thick and slicked back – he looked incredibly handsome right then, his eyes shining with love for her.

"Feels good having you back here."

"Well, it feels rather good being here. And I've been overwhelmed with affection, Socks and I had quite the moment on the kitchen floor."

He chuckled at that, "Dirty little sod, I'm the only one who gets to make love to you on the kitchen floor."

She leant in to kiss him again, letting her lower lip curve over his top, keeping her eyes open and watching his expression as she teased his tongue with her teeth. Then she stopped, gasped, "The sauce will burn!" she exclaimed, and dashed back into the kitchen.

* * *

Later, after translucent fish in a delicious creamy wine sauce, Elsie sat with her feet in Charles' lap and watched him devour a second slice of banana loaf.

"Are you stuffed yet?"

"Very much so," he said, squeezing her foot as he leant forward and popped a cherry into her mouth. "Damned decent dessert."

"Thought you'd like it."

"So, you going to tell me what happened?"

She toyed with her napkin, "I told you on the phone."

"Yes. And you didn't say very much at all. So tell me how you _really_ feel."

"Better."

He raised an eyebrow, "Better?"

"Much." She wiggled her feet until he started to rub them, "I needed to do it, and I'm glad now. Chapter closed."

"That simple…?" He wasn't so sure, and he knew she probably wasn't neither.

"No, maybe not, but…" she leant forward, stealing another cherry from his plate. "…It's the first time I've ever made any steps towards dealing with it."

He rubbed her leg, "You're happy?"

"I'm with you."

"That's not an answer."

She leant forward again, touching his cheek, "It's the only answer I need. I've realised that."

He inwardly gasped, feeling his heart tighten; this used to be an unfamiliar sensation, now it was the breath of life. He squeezed her hand. "I love you."

"I love you too," she kissed him gently. "So, how about you?"

"I missed you terribly."

"That's not what I meant," she smiled. "William? How are things with William?"

"Good," he nodded, refilling their coffee cups. "We're getting on well, I'm learning about him – I mean, in a way I hadn't before. Odd sometimes, when he sighs a certain way or holds himself, I see myself, my father." He laughed at himself, "Which is ridiculous really, because I've known him on and off since childhood and I never focussed on those things before, never noticed them."

"Perhaps you just stopped yourself from looking."

"Perhaps." He sat back slightly as Socks pawed at the hem of his trousers and then jumped up onto his lap but landing on Elsie's feet instead. She drew her legs back and the kitten circled twice before sitting down and yawning. Charles rested his hand on his back, lightly stroking him.

"How natural you look doing that now," she teased. "No effort at all."

"We're the best of friends; Socks, Alfie and me."

"Three musketeers."

"Indeed. Alfie seems to want Socks to ride in the back of the train though, I'm not sure Socks has the same appreciation."

Elsie sipped her coffee, watching as Socks twisted onto his back and let Charles tickle his white belly.

"He's excited."

"Who? The cat?" She teased and Charles rolled his eyes.

"William. Planning the wedding, it's not too far off really."

Elsie nodded, "And we're invited?"

"Yes, I believe so."

"A-ha, and will that be at all awkward?"

Charles' chest rose and fell as he breathed deeply, "Terribly so but we shall go, and behave as good polite English people do."

She smirked, "I'm Scottish, I can be uncouth."

"Never. You'll wear a lovely dress and look beautiful and distract me from whatever mixed up feelings I might have."

She heard the tremble in his voice and rested her hand on his knee.

He nodded his head at her, suppressing the sudden tightness in his chest and brushing away any worries he might have. It was so like him to ignore concerns rather than deal head on it with them, hope they might just disappear.

"Wanna put the baby to bed and get drunk together?" She said, that wonderful mischievous glint in her eye he'd loved from the start.

He chuckled, "Best do the dishes first, my housemate's a tyrant with the cleaning."

The hand that still rested on his knee slapped it, " _I'm_ a tyrant with the cleaning!"

* * *

There was a light on somewhere outside, a neighbour's security or porch perhaps, it was faint and softened by distance, the fall of night, the thickness of their curtains. But it found a way through the gap at the top and splintered in like a firefly seeking a host.

Charles watched the orange bloom upon Elsie's shoulder, the way the light moved as she did. Up the back of her neck, then down again, over her collarbone and pointing towards the peak of her nipples. He lazily lifted a hand to her chest, his fingertips tracing the path of the light, tickling her delicate skin. She lifted his hand to her mouth and kissed his palm, playfully nibbling the edge of his thumb.

"God, I've missed you," he sighed, hands slipping back to her hips, holding her as she rose and fell above him, surrounding him with joy. "Can't sleep without you here now."

She smiled, leaning forward to kiss him. She knew he slept without her there, but that wasn't the point; the point was it wasn't the same when they were apart, nothing was. She could admit that now just as easily as she could breathe in and out.

"Oh my love," he groaned, squeezing his eyes closed as she loved him. "Who would have thought?"

Sighing, she let her head fall back, "Who would have thought…" she exhaled into the stillness of the room. She deliberately kept her movements slow and steady, empowered by the knowledge of their unity, joyful at the sound of his pleasure. There was strength in her hips, sureness. A deep, velvet eternity.

Elsie gasped his name, felt herself losing control, her stomach tightening, the end of every nerve tingling and shining inside her. Charles pulled his legs up so she was leaning back against his knees, he pushed up his pelvis, watched her face dissolve in gratification – there were moments he'd pay to relive over and over and watching Elsie's orgasm come upon her so slowly and exquisitely was one such moment.

She clung onto him after, laying on his chest, her breathing deep and heavy. He stroked his fingers down her back, revelling again in the softness of her skin, like silk, cotton, delicate lace. The bedroom door creaked open and he listened to the soft footfalls of Socks upon the carpet, the movement of the curtains as he jumped to the window.

Soon he realised Elsie was already asleep and he kissed her head, lifting her to one side. She murmured a slight protest as he moved her, then settled back down and he made his way to the bathroom.

When he returned Socks was at the bottom of the bed licking his paw; his fussing had left a gap in the curtains and the swell of orange light centred on their bed now.

Elsie lay naked, the sheets gathered low on her waist, her hair about her on the pillow. She seemed to him completely at ease and that made his heart beat that little bit easier. He readjusted the curtains before climbing in beside her, watching as Socks gave him a long stare and then curled up by Elsie's feet – clearly, he'd missed her too.

When he settled back she moved again, leaning against him, and he drew his arm around her, pulled the sheets up over them and drifted off to sleep. She was home.

* * *

 **April**

Charles kicked off his trainers as soon as he was inside; he acutely loathed the things, they weren't at all gentlemanly or smart but they were a means to an end. He wanted to keep fit, to keep the old joints loose and mobile, and running – or rather walking at a slightly faster pace – around the neighbourhood seemed a better option than joining some godforsaken gym.

He glanced at himself in the mirror, running a hand through his greying hair, far greyer now than only a year ago it seemed. His complexion seemed pasty, a fine sheen of sweat upon his pale skin. He dabbed at his cheeks with his hands and headed into the kitchen, taking a bottle of water from the fridge and sipping it as he gazed out of the French doors.

It took a couple of minutes before he spotted Elsie on her knees by the fence and pushed open the door.

"Hey."

She looked up, her hair clipped on top of her head, paint on her arms. "Hi, how was the run?"

"Fresh. You're painting the fence?"

"A-ha," she turned back to it, "Fancied a change."

"You never mentioned it."

"Did I have to?"

He didn't answer but drank his water instead. Of course she didn't have to run it by him, but there were things he thought they discussed naturally now.

"Colour's cute, right?" She said, finishing off the last panel.

"Yeah, yeah, looks smart. Not a great time to do it though, perhaps."

"Well…" she counted to five, "thank you for the advice."

"You're welcome."

She smiled to herself, shaking her head; he was unbelievably clueless at times. "Help me up, would you?"

He crossed the grass, taking hold of her arm and supporting her as she stood. "Where's the kid?"

"I sent him inside to bed, he's getting too fond of growling at birds, I don't want carcasses on my patio."

"Only nature," he shrugged.

"I guess, but I'd like my baby to remain innocent," she smiled. "I best clean up, do you want a snack or anything before I shower?"

"No, I'm fine, I'll wait until tonight."

"Alright."

He watched her clear away the paint things and then followed her inside, locking the patio doors behind them.

"You looking forward to tonight?"

She shrugged, "I suppose."

"You're not?"

"I've been rather lapse in my friendships of late, I haven't seen them since before we went to Scotland which seems forever ago. I haven't really spoken to any of them about _it. Him."_

"And, do you want to?"

She shrugged, "I'm not sure. Perhaps it's too private, too raw."

"I think that's a fair assessment," he felt the need to protect her, though her actions of late had shown him she didn't necessarily need it.

"Just feel in a funny mood today, an odd mood."

"Not to do with the fact that it…"

She raised her eyebrows, "That it… what?"

"An engagement," he sighed. "Forget it –,"

"No, I mean, are you, do you feel odd about going to it?"

"Not especially," he said, then gave himself seconds to reflect. "Perhaps a tiny amount. Maybe." He shook his head, "Go have your shower, I need to use it after."

There was a sudden awkwardness between them. "You can go first, if you want."

"No, it's fine, you go. Takes you longer to do your hair."

She half-smiled, "True. Slick of gel, you're done."

"Greyer now though, you noticed that? How quickly it's changed."

"Since you've been with me?"

"Age, I guess. Why you?"

"Added stress."

"Added joy," he touched her arm as she passed him, "don't forget that." He kissed her forehead, "What you wearing?"

"Trousers and a top. You?"

"Same," he teased, taking out the bread from the cupboard, "perhaps I'll have a slice of toast after all."

* * *

It was raining at the engagement party, and Elsie's carefully curled hair was already flat by the time she greeted the happy couple and handed across a gift. She felt bad it was just a vase; a very nice, very expensive vase, but the simplicity and lack of originality about it embarrassed her. But then it was a rushed gift and she didn't really feel overwhelmingly positive about attending the event. Which also made her feel decidedly awful about herself.

Her plan was thus – be polite, smile, and drink plenty of Gin.

She left Isobel greeting the other arriving guests and followed Charles through to the kitchen.

"Charles, good to see you old man," Joseph Molesley said, slapping his old friend on the back.

"Good to see you Joe, having a good time already I see."

"Open bar here, gotta make the most of it." His eyes widened as Elsie appeared behind Charles. "Wow! You look hot."

Charles coughed and Elsie laughed, reaching to shake his hand, "Thank you Joe, so nice to know I've not entirely lost it."

"Not at all. You look… I mean that red top…"

"I think that's quite enough of that now," Charles said sternly.

"Should we have a drink?" Elsie interrupted.

"Champagne?" Joseph suggested, holding up the bottle.

"Gives her heartburn," Charles said. "Ah, there we go, Gin. Excuse us."

He practically pulled a giggling Elsie across the room.

"Cheeky bastard."

"Cheeky drunk is all," she said, finding glasses and ice as he poured the Gin. "My fault entirely for being so damned irresistible."

He smiled at that, dropping lime into their glasses, "Well yes, that too."

She leant across the counter to kiss him, "It makes me happy that you know things like how I don't enjoy Champagne."

"You're not overly fond of lemons neither."

"And you like me on top."

He blushed, "Don't distract me, I'll not make it through the night now."

She sipped her drink, brushing her hand over his on the counter top. "Nice to still be able to flirt with you, Mr. C."

He raised his eyebrows, "You steal my heart away," he said dramatically, hand on chest. "Especially in that red top. Trousers and a top, you said."

Elsie laughed, "And that's exactly what I'm wearing."

He rolled his eyes dramatically.

"You think we should circulate?"

"I think you should talk to your friends. Where's Beryl?" He glanced outside through the kitchen window, "Oh my, have you seen this?"

Elsie joined him, looking out to the garden; there was a long table set up for an outdoor dinner: candles, beautiful flowers, and blankets to keep warm beneath. The grand tree above it adorned with twinkling golden lights.

"This is stunning," she said, and felt her chest tighten. "I'd never be able to do anything like this. My engagement party would be a night down the local pub, small and intimate."

"This is intimate," he said, and wondered if she realised how much it affected him to hear her speaking of 'her engagement'. He squeezed her shoulder, "You can do anything."

"Mmm, not feeling invincible tonight."

"Go talk to your friends," he insisted, "I'll wander and come find you later."

She nodded and headed outside, leaving Charles to continue chatting to a rather upbeat Molesley.

* * *

"We thought you'd disappeared off the face of the earth," Beryl said, knocking back her third rum and coke. "I texted you."

Elsie's cheeks warmed and she shook her head embarrassed, "And I got them, and I'm grateful too," she added softly. "It was nice to know you were all thinking of me."

"So, what's going on?" Beryl asked, as forthright as ever.

"Beryl," Isobel warned, briefly closing her eyes and shaking her head. "Good job we know you well."

"Is there trouble in the love nest? That's all I want to know."

Elsie chuckled, "The love nest?"

"Is that not what it is?"

"I suppose that's exactly what it is, and I am happy to report that everything is wonderful," she sipped her wine, "we're nesting well together."

Isobel smiled, "That's very good to hear."

"I just needed some time with my father," she considered saying more but quickly dismissed the idea. It was enough to have Charles as a confidant. "To sort a few things out."

"You see, you nosey beggar," Isobel said, "family stuff."

"I'm so sorry I haven't been here to help," Elsie said, "I do feel terrible about it, how absent I've been."

"And you're the organiser out of us."

"I'm sure I'm not, looking at all this. It looks beautiful, Izzy. And I am very happy for you, I'm not sure I've said that enough."

"Well I hardly did it myself, do you know it was Edith, of all people, who came to help."

"Was it indeed?" Beryl smirked.

"What's going on? What don't I know?" Elsie asked.

"I think our darling Izzy here has perhaps realised her daughter-in-law to be is not the kind-hearted soul one might wish for. She's just too polite to say."

Isobel shook her head again, "You're incorrigible."

"I've been called a lot of things, that goes to the bottom of the list."

Elsie laughed, "What's happened?"

"Oh, nothing as dramatic as Beryl might make out, just an inkling of a feeling. You know me, I'm kind hearted, I let things slide. But she's quite the young woman, Mary."

"And Edith?"

"We happen to have struck up a bit of a friendship."

"Taking afternoon tea together, or so I've heard." Beryl held up her empty glass. "I need a refill."

Elsie took the glass from her, "Don't drink any more until after we've eaten."

"Bossy."

"And so Edith helped put all this together?"

"Yes," Isobel glanced about at her guests. "Her idea entirely really, to be home and outside, you know I'm not fond of big events."

"It's a nice idea, and the wedding, do we have a date?"

"Lord no, not yet. We won't wait too long."

"Good idea, neither of you is getting any younger," Beryl laughed.

"Bugger off!"

"Oh, I've missed the two of you," Elsie said giggling, "I really have."

"And we've missed you," Beryl pulled the two of them to her and they hugged. "Disappeared somewhat since you found a man."

"That's a good thing," Isobel said, "she deserved it. It's nice to see, this change in you. Been wonderful to see, actually."

Elsie felt herself blush again. "Stop it, let's talk about something else. Wedding dates."

"Maybe after the summer is all I can suggest. After Matthew, we're all so heavily tied up with that. It's like planning the royal wedding. You will come, won't you, you got the invite?"

"I'm sorry, I've not looked at the mail since I got home, but yes, we'll be there. Goodness, so many weddings coming up."

"Others?"

Elsie bit her lip to stop herself from spilling secrets, "A friend of Charles'."

Beryl cleared her throat, "And nothing on the horizon there…?"

"Don't –," Isobel barely wheezed out as a warning; Beryl's loose tongue was always worse following alcohol.

Elsie only smiled, "No. Nothing on the horizon other than a long holiday in a hot country. And neither of us can wait for that."

"Work on your tan before a summer of weddings," Isobel suggested.

"Well, of course."

* * *

Charles couldn't help but recall their first date as they sat in the back of a taxi on their way home. Now, as then, it was raining; only now he could hold her hand in the back of the car, and snuggle up against her in his slightly inebriated state.

"You spoke to them?"

"I did," she breathed deeply. "I didn't tell them anything about, you know," she glanced down at their entwined hands. "Seemed odd, to speak about it again."

"There's nothing wrong with having some secrets."

"No," she leaned against his arm, breathing in his scent, she'd recognise it anywhere now. How comforting it was. There was something about it, about being with him, that made her feel secure. Whatever it was they'd spent a lifetime searching for was right here.

"I thought today how it's a year since we had Tom and Sybil over for dinner, she was pregnant and you were nervous and protective."

He felt his heart pull at that memory, he could still see the young woman standing in the kitchen with her hand on her burgeoning belly.

"Life can change so quickly."

"Yes." She breathed deeply, "Every time I speak to Tom, I think about that very thing, how life changes, how things can slip by."

"Nothing to stop it, we must all live and die."

She smiled, glancing up at him, "Wise words indeed Mr. Carson, I feel ready for anything now."

The taxi came to a halt outside their house and Charles paid as Elsie unlocked the door.

"Is it too old woman of me to make cocoa?" She asked, slipping off her heels. "Socks? Baby boy?" She called. "Shut the door Charles, it's cold."

"Sure that driver charged me too much."

A weak meow came from the stairs and Elsie watched as the kitten tumbled down and then scrambled up Charles' trouser leg.

"Ah, you little sod. He keeps doing this."

He made his way to Charles' shoulder before he could stop him, then perched there quite comfortably as Elsie laughed.

"You're like some odd pirate with a cat instead of a parrot."

"He'll bloody wreck all of my clothes, little bugger. That's what we should have called him, bugger."

"Oh no way," she reached up to tickle under the cat's chin, "he's a cutie, he just loves you, as do I," she kissed Charles' cheek. "Bet you wouldn't complain if I climbed your trouser leg."

"Just make the darned cocoa."

He slowly made his way into the kitchen, taking a seat at the table and reaching up to stroke Sock's head as he laid down on his shoulder.

"You want marshmallows?"

"Of course."

"Silly of me to ask."

He watched as she heated the milk, took their mugs from the cupboard. The kitchen was still and silent, the lowlights on below the cabinets and their reflections in the darkness of the windows and the black beyond.

"Can I say something strange?"

"You often do," Elsie said, whisking in the cocoa.

"It makes me feel happy, which I realise is a very odd sensation, to feel happy about this."

"What?"

"That I know things others don't, about you."

She poured the mixture into their mugs and brought them to the table.

"Told you it was strange," he took his drink from her.

"No, not at all. And it makes me happy too, that I have you to share it with. Been bottled up inside for so long."

She took the seat next to him, watching as Socks yawned and then climbed down Charles' chest to pad across into her lap.

"Hello little man," she said, leaning down to kiss him. He nuzzled her chin before plonking himself down in her lap. "Hard life, being a cat," she said.

"Hmm, so I've noticed." He took a sip of his cocoa, a marshmallow melting its sweetness on his tongue. "I do miss Sybil," he suddenly said.

"I know you do."

"I don't say it."

"You don't have to."

He nodded, then yawned. "Good party, good dinner."

"Edith helped plan it, apparently."

"She's good at that kind of thing," he said. "Be hard for her, Mary's wedding coming up, the poor girl is so desperate to be married, to find someone."

"Weddings galore it seems. When did you say William's was?"

"June, I think."

"And Matthew's in July. We need to buy gifts."

"I have to get a morning suit for Mary's."

"You have a role?"

"Some kind of usher."

She smiled, "Not a page boy?"

"Yes, an overly large, grey-haired one. Showing guests in to church, that type of thing."

"I shall have to treat myself to a nice new dress to match your quality."

He smirked, "Your quality is innate."

She touched his fingertips with hers; she'd always loved the shape of his hands, the sheer size of his palm spread out upon her body.

"Does it bother you, all this talk of weddings?"

It took him a moment or two to respond, "No point in dwelling on it."

She wasn't sure that was an answer, but she let it pass – clearly he didn't want to discuss it further and she respected that.

He quickly changed the topic, "You know, here's something I didn't think I'd ever say…"

"What?"

"Moseley was right. You look 'hot' in that red blouse."

She bit her lip, suppressing a smile, "Remind me to tell him that next time we see him; Charles thinks you're right."

"Do no such thing."

She glanced down at the sleeping cat, "We have a child now. No fooling about on the kitchen table."

"I'd like to lick cocoa from your breasts," he said abruptly.

"Oh Mr. Carson, what a wonderful effect I've had upon you."


	40. Chapter 40

**Chapter 40**

 **April**

Charles lay back in the bath, closing his eyes and letting the delicate strings of the violin lull his brain into relaxation. He felt the gentle tilt of the water against his thighs, the fragrance of the oil he'd found in the bathroom cupboard surrounding him in steam, and the effects of the glass of Pinot colliding together to create one perfectly wonderful moment.

Wiggling his toes, he stretched out his hand and reached for his glass of wine, sipping the cool liquid without even opening his eyes. He didn't hear the bathroom door creak open as he tapped the beat of the melody on the side of the bath; nor did he notice the tiny being nosing through his briefs on the bathroom floor and fighting with the material as he got it stuck on his head.

Once free, Socks rolled onto his back, pawing at a pair of slippers before his ears pricked up at the deep rumble of Charles' voice as he briefly sang along to the music. At four-months-old he knew his Daddy's voice well. Getting to his feet and wiggling his bottom, he jumped to the side of the bath.

Charles jerked forward when he felt tiny pinpricks upon his shoulder.

"Hey," he mumbled and Socks cried in response, his tiny pink mouth opening and closing. "What you up to in here?"

Charles lifted his wine glass out of the way as the kitten plodded down from his shoulder to his chest, circling once and then sitting there. His dark eyes stared up at Charles' face and he cried again, as if asking for permission to stay.

"Your tail will get wet," he said, "and you won't like that one bit."

"Who are you talking to?" Elsie said, pushing open the door and picking up Charles' pants from the floor. "I've told you to put these in the laundry bin."

"I would've once I got out."

She smirked as she took in the scene in the bathtub. "Is this some sort of perverted cat thing going on here?"

"Hardly."

"I could make a hell of a lot of pussy jokes right about now."

Charles rolled his eyes, "Oh God, no, don't."

She laughed again, "What you fancy for dinner?"

"Something soft."

"Don't tell me you're still struggling with that tooth."

"I know, don't moan at me."

"Go to the Dentist."

"I will."

"Before we go on holiday," she leant over and kissed his forehead. "Pasta it is then. Shall I take him?"

"Probably best. Don't want him drowning."

"Don't drink too much, don't forget we're babysitting tonight." She lifted Socks with one hand. "Silly little boy."

"Shit I had forgotten. Can I have twenty more minutes?" He said, smiling and sinking down into the water. "Long day on my feet."

"He won't be here for an hour, I'll make spaghetti, he likes that."

* * *

Alfie dug around in the cupboard under the stairs, kicking Charles' heavy walking boots out of the way as he tugged on the yellow footstool in there. Carrying it with him, he scuttled back to the kitchen and placed it besides Elsie.

"Did you leave the tomatoes for me?"

"As requested, yes."

Elsie stood back slightly, watching as Alfie dropped small handfuls of chopped tomatoes into the pan with the onions and garlic. He wiped his hands on the plastic apron he wore that Charles had gotten him and stirred the mixture.

"Careful," Elsie said, adjusting the heat. "Mushrooms?"

Alfie wrinkled his nose but nodded, "And some yellow pepper?"

"A-ha," she added the other vegetables and let him stir, taking care he was far enough back to avoid anything hitting his skin. "That's smelling lovely."

"Yep. It is Mrs. H." He put the spoon on the side. "Where is Mr. C now?" He huffed, "He's been an ages."

Elsie smiled softly, "Still in his greenhouse watering those new seedlings… he wants them to grow big and tall like you are. Why don't you go help him, I'll finish this up and shout you in to test the spaghetti?"

"Can I throw it at the wall?"

"I don't think so sweetie," she said, smiling to herself and shaking her head.

* * *

Alfie made his way outside, dancing about beneath the security light as it flashed on and off to his movements, before he dashed down the garden to the greenhouse.

"Good evening Mr. Carson," he said dramatically.

"Well, hello young man."

"Mrs. H said I could come and help your seeds grow big."

"I'm sure you can, I'm just feeding them."

"What do they eat?" He said, peering over the top of the bench.

"Here, try this," Charles pushed an upturned crate to him and Alfie climbed onto it. "They eat this liquid mixed with water," Charles explained.

"Not spaghetti like us." He smirked, reaching down to touch the top of the green sprout poking through the soil.

"No, not spaghetti. You wanna do this tray?" He handed across the small watering can.

Alfie dutifully watered the seeds. "You think the mixture tastes nice to them like pasta and sauce and cheese does to us?"

"Maybe."

"And chocolate?"

"Perhaps."

"And Jammy Dodgers?"

Charles patted Alfie's shoulder, "Well, nothing could taste as good as Jammy Dodgers. I got you some, so we can have them with a cup of tea later. Milk for you."

"But I want it in a tea cup."

"Of course, a china one."

They heard Elsie call from the kitchen and Alfie turned to look up at Charles, a huge smile on his face. "Dinner's ready!"

"Come on then champ," he lifted him down from the crate. "Let's not keep the lovely lady waiting."

"Mr. C?" He said, pulling on the belt on his shorts as he hoisted them up.

"Yes."

"Why aren't you and Mrs. H married?"

Charles spluttered on his response, "Well, well it's a erm… we've not known each other long enough yet." He settled on.

"When you've known each long enough will you do it?"

"Maybe."

Alfie giggled, jumping from one stepping stone to the other as they made their way to the house. "Mrs. H will wear a big white dress like on television." He spun around on the grass, circling as if he was wearing a hoop of her skirt. "Can I be the greatest man?"

"Do you mean the _best_ man?"

"Yes, but at school we've been learning about wow words, and sometimes you should change a word you use a lot for another one."

"I see," he gripped the door handle, shrouded in darkness as he watched Elsie setting their dishes out in the bright warmth of the kitchen.

"So, like, if you say something to Mrs. H like 'spaghetti is nice', nice is a b.o.r.i.n.g word so you could say 'lovely' or 'tasty'."

"Or delicious."

"Yep," he jumped from the grass onto the path next to Charles, "you've got it Mr. C."

"Wow words, I learn something new every day." He chuckled, letting Alfie into the house.

* * *

"Now then, do you want some cheese Alfie?"

"Can I do it, Mrs. H?"

"Course sweetheart, here you go, can you reach?"

Alfie knelt on his chair so he could grate the Parmesan onto his pasta.

"Smells lovely darling," Charles said, pouring their wine. "Delicious." He winked at Alfie who grinned as he sniffed the contents of his bowl.

"Mmm, smells lovely darllling."

They both laughed and he grinned triumphantly, plopping back onto his chair and picking up his fork.

"Little rascal," Charles said as Elsie grated cheese for him too. "Stealing my best lines."

"At school, we have to say a prayer in the morning when we stand at our desks."

"A-ha, and are you enjoying school?" Elsie asked, sipping her wine and simultaneously sliding a napkin onto Alfie's lap. He spoke of it often now which she liked to think meant he had settled into the new place.

He shrugged, "Most of time, it's fun when we do stuff like painting and building and the monkey bars."

"He's quite the star on the monkey bars," Charles said.

"Mr. Carson said I might be able to have some in the garden."

"Errrm…"

"Did he now?" Elsie rolled her eyes in Charles' direction. "He's already had the space for the greenhouse."

"That's an investment," Charles haughtily pointed out. "We shall be eating our own fruit and veg in no time, none of these damned pesticides and whatnot."

Alfie sniggered, "Mr. C said a naughty word."

"Yes he did, and he'll be punished for it later." Elsie elbowed Charles. "Your pasta good, Alfie?"

He nodded, kicking his legs about, "At school, Lucy likes pasta best."

"Who's Lucy?" Elsie teased.

"My girlfriend," Alfie said confidently. "We're going to get married soon."

"Wow, everyone but us," Charles said without thinking and Elsie coughed on her food. "I mean, don't you think you're a bit young for that?"

"Course not, everyone gets married and sometimes we get married again. Lacey Marsh has been married five times to Shea, Matt, Kieran, mmm and…" he screwed up his eyes as he thought, sucking a piece of spaghetti into his mouth, splashing sauce to his chin. "…and Heath and now Kelly."

"A girl?"

"No silly, a boy." Alfie knelt on his chair again, animated by the chat.

"Kelly is a girl's name."

"Nope, a boy's name."

Elsie brushed her hand over Charles' wrist, "I think things aren't quite so rigid nowadays darling."

Charles huffed, using his hand to instruct Alfie to sit down properly, which he dutifully did. "This is not how I want you to view marriage, multiple ones."

"Oh Charles, it's just a game, pretend, isn't it Alfie?"

He nodded, "Can I have some more lemon sparkle please Mrs. H?"

"May," Charles said.

"May I have some?"

"You may honey, I'll get it."

After dinner, they cleared the table and Alfie opted to get the plasticine out; he'd already set out the coloured tubs and laid down the plastic table cloth Elsie had given him to use previously before either of them noticed.

"So, we're modelling, are we?" Charles asked as he dried the last of the plates.

Elsie looked up from cleaning the sink and noted the frown already forming on Charles' face. "Messy business," he continued, "this time of night."

"Leave him," Elsie whispered, then added more loudly, "What are you making this time Alfie?"

"I need little people for my train village," he looked at Charles, "our train village. I want a Fat Controller –,"

"Who you going to base that on?" Elsie smirked, filling the coffee pot.

"Like Thomas the Tank, he has one."

"Cheeky minx," Charles mumbled to her, nudging her hip. "I'll have a biscuit with my coffee. And Alfie wants Jammy Dodgers, don't you champ?"

"If that's okay Mrs. H, mummy says I'm not to ask for anything."

"You can have whatever you want whilst you're here," she said, getting out the biscuits and pouring him some milk. "Go on Mr. Carson, get building."

He rolled his eyes, taking his seat at the table. "Where should I start?"

"Make the body first, see," Alfie said, handing him a lump of blue plasticine. "You make the train driver. Don't forget his cap."

"No Charles, don't forget his cap," Elsie teased, putting his coffee down.

"And where are you going?"

"I have a bit of work to do, I'll leave you two creative souls to it. You know where I'll be, should you need me."

* * *

Less than fifteen minutes later there was a tiny tap at the office door and Elsie glanced over the top of her glasses as Alfie pushed open the door.

"What's the matter sweetheart?"

"Elsie…" He said softly, and she recognised the tone immediately – Becky used it whenever she wanted something.

"Mmm?"

"Well, Mr. C, he's my best friend –,"

She smirked at that, "Yes."

"But he's not very good at making the people."

She slid her glasses off and closed the lid on her laptop, "Does this mean you'd like me to come help?"

He nodded and she followed him back downstairs.

"Now then old man," she teased as she stood back to observe the scene. "What's going on?"

"Did you…" he stuttered, "did you fetch her?" He pointed his plasticine at Alfie, "Traitor."

Alfie laughed and stood a purple blob on his hand to show Elsie, "I made a dog, see?"

"My that's marvellous," she lied, "wonderful colour selection too. And what have you made, Mr. C?"

He grumbled in response and she folded her arms watching them. Something in her chest pulled tight as she noted the focus on Charles' face, the determination to please the little soul beside him. For a fleeting moment she thought of what could have been. For him – a son, an heir. For her… She swallowed at the passing memory of what her father had told her only weeks before.

Moving behind him she pressed down on his shoulders; her annoyance at his earlier off-the-cuff remark about marriage disappearing as she let her mind briefly wonder at what could have been. She kissed the top of his head, "I'll help," she said, sitting beside him.

Her fingers moved over his, pressing into the soft cold mixture. "Your hands are too big for the tiny pieces," she said softly.

He let go of the plasticine, sitting back to watch as she flattened it out, reshaped it. How her fingers were nimble and quick, yet delicate as they formed the head and body, arms, legs. She stood the figure up on the table, using one of the tools to draw on a face and the lines of his jacket.

"There we go, not Renaissance but you can tell what it is."

"Bloody show off," Charles huffed but smiled at her. "Not bad hey Alfie."

"I knew Mrs. H would do it." He yawned, covering his face, hoping they wouldn't notice.

"Time for a quick bath," Elsie said. "Then bed, Mr. Carson will read to you if you like."

"He does good voices," Alfie said, standing on his chair and stretching to the ceiling.

"Off there," Charles said and Alfie immediately jumped down and danced about the kitchen. "Come on, I'll clear this away, let's get you in the tub."

"Great big boat bath TUB!"

Alfie raced up the stairs and Charles shook his head at Elsie. "Children have far too much energy, I don't think I could've coped with one. Especially not two."

"Oh you would have. We would."

* * *

"Is he okay?" Elsie asked, glancing over the top of her glasses at Charles as he closed the bedroom door.

"Fine, fast asleep. What you working on?"

"Just wanted to check through things before Tom and I see the solicitor tomorrow."

"Are you all set?" He asked, slipping off his dressing gown and climbing into bed beside her.

She tapped away on her laptop, "Pretty much. I can't believe it's taken this long, we were discussing it way back in October last year."

"Time flies by," he opened his book. "Look how long he's been in my flat now."

"I know, it's worked out well."

"You think I should empty it completely now? I mean, really go through all my furniture and make decisions."

"That depends."

"On?"

"Whether you plan to ever move back there?"

He smirked over at her, an eyebrow raised, "Fat chance."

"Then it seems the right time, do you want me to help go through it?"

"That'd be good," he took his bookmark out and settled back on his pillows. "Tom would no doubt prefer younger, more modern stuff anyhow."

She saved her document, closing it and staring at the landscape background she had on the screen – Scotland, her standing on a rocky outcrop in the distance, Charles had snapped the picture quickly on his phone and it had turned out wonderfully.

"You don't mind, do you? I know we haven't discussed it properly in a while but the way the business is going, with Tom?"

"I don't mind at all," one hand rested on her leg on top of the sheets. "Perfectly content with it all."

"Good," she closed the lid of her laptop. "I'm rather excited about tomorrow, getting it all started. I can't wait to throw myself into the designing and planning."

"And Tom seems focussed too, all those courses he's been doing."

"He has, I think it's a distraction maybe, but work is the best thing for distraction."

"It is. Funny how life can change, things happen for a reason maybe. Last year I was lamenting the fact I'd lost interest in my work life. Now I like to think of myself as Professor Carson."

She laughed at that, leaning to kiss his cheek, "Lecturing the world, yes."

"Cheeky. You've been with Alfie too long."

"Erm I think it's a certain gentleman he spends all his time with. What were the two of you discussing outside, anyhow?"

He hesitated for a second, "Just wow words."

"Sounds fun."

"That boy is a mass of energy and excitement."

She got out of bed, putting her laptop aside and turning off the main light leaving only Charles' lamp on. "He adores you. Called you his 'best friend'."

Charles chuckled, "His 'greatest' friend."

"What?"

He shook his head, "Nothing. You going to sleep?"

"Yes."

"You mind if I read?"

"Not at all."

He gazed down at her as she settled into bed, turning her back to him and his light. "Night Charles."

"Goodnight darling."

* * *

There was laughter that morning. Rain outside and thick grey skies but the warmth of a little coffee shop that had recently opened and friends reunited for breakfast.

"I want to scope out the competition," Beryl said and Isobel hushed her as the waitress delivered their food.

Elsie set out their tea cups and poured; Isobel handed out cutlery from the jar in the centre.

"Smells good," Beryl said, digging into her scrambled eggs. "Bacon not done to a crisp, which is good."

"Might it pass your approval?" Isobel teased, putting a napkin on her lap.

"It might indeed."

"I was thinking of having you all around in a few weeks, I'm putting something fun together." Elsie said.

"Ooh nice, will there be alcohol?"

"Maybe a few drinks, it'll be a daytime thing, I'm just finalising things then I'll text the date."

"Sounds wonderful," Izzy said. "And I have invites for Mary's hen night too in my bag. Please come, I really don't want to be outnumbered by young pretty girls."

"The implication being we are neither young nor pretty," Elsie teased.

"Ugly old witches," Beryl laughed.

"Neither. Of course."

Elsie brushed her hand over Isobel's on the table, "We'll be there, ready to prop you up. What is it anyhow?"

"Dinner somewhere expensive first, I think Cora is paying."

"Definitely there," Beryl refilled their tea cups. "You're not going away again, are you?"

Elsie buttered another slice of toast, keenly aware of a guarded look passing between her friends. "Alright," she said, taking a bite and chewing. "Go ahead and ask."

"We don't want to be nosy," Isobel said and Beryl rolled her eyes, sitting back in her chair and folding her arms. "We just care and after our conversation the other week."

"When I blubbed like an idiot, you mean." She put down her toast. "All this talk of marriage," Elsie said. "I don't resent anyone marrying, especially not you Izzy, I'm so very happy for you."

"But it's unsettling you," Beryl stated, completely sure of her assessment and her friend's feelings. "I know you very well," she said, leaning forward and touching Elsie's arm. "I've known you a very long time." She allowed her fingers to dance over the ring Elsie wore now, the 'gift' from Charles that was far too elaborate to simply be a gift. "And he wants more and you can't give it to him?"

"I bloody hate you," Elsie said, the hints of a smile tugging at her lips, the hints of tears in her eyes. "I've had a lifetime of ignoring how I feel and what I need. And this feels like it's just dropped into place so perfectly, so swiftly. I am happy with him, more than… I wouldn't want to change a thing. Perhaps that's the issue."

"He wants things to change?" Isobel asked gently.

Elsie screwed her mouth up, "He says he's fine, he can wait, and he has. He asked at Christmas and things are still… Well, some things I've ignored for a long time, a lifetime. And, this trip, I finally made moves towards dealing with my 'issues', as a therapist might say." She broke off a piece of toast and nibbled on it. "I'd rather not go into it any deeper," she breathed deeply.

"That's alright sweetheart, you don't need to say anything else."

"I just needed a few weeks with my father and Becky to face up to a few things." She looked at them both, her gaze passing from the concerned faces of one to the other. Her oldest friends. "Charles knows, and he would have stayed but I sent him home for the kitten."

Beryl laughed, "Course you did."

Elsie looked squarely at Isobel, "What I said the other week in the car, when I was so shaken and ridiculous."

"You weren't ridiculous. I can assure you of that."

"I feel ridiculous, but…" she shrugged. "I'm not sure what to say."

"Perhaps you need to go through all this before you can be sure about the future," Beryl suggested. "He loves you very much, I don't think he's going anywhere."

"No," Elsie sagged back in her chair, "but I would never wish to make him unhappy."

The other two laughed and Isobel said, "I've known that man years and he's never glowed like he does now. If he says he's okay with waiting then that's that. Let yourself be comfortable with it. Marriage isn't the be all, commitment can come in different ways. But it's also not the suppressive act you think it is." She suddenly grasped her handbag, "Ooh I have something." She fussed around, pulling out a small book. "Richard gave me this, silly thing, one of those quote thingys but kinda nice. Why don't you borrow it, read a few?"

Elsie scanned the front, 'Marriage', it said in a giant swirly pink font.

"Some made me laugh," Isobel said. "Others I've marked, might try and build them into the ceremony somehow. When it happens."

"That's sweet," Beryl said. "You got your mother of the groom outfit sorted?"

"Mm, almost, a few to choose from. If you fancy it after breakfast we could call in the shop and I'll show you my options."

"I'd love that," Elsie agreed, dropping the book into her bag.

* * *

"You've lost your arm," Robert said as Charles' golf ball flew off course.

"It's the wind," Charles protested, a hand to his forehead as he squinted as to its location. "And I haven't played in a while."

"Like I said, you lost your arm. Take it again."

"I'm not cheating."

"It's only the two of us, I don't mind."

"No, no. We'll play it straight or not at all." He stepped aside, "Take your shot."

Charles stood back, silently watching as Robert set up his position and hit the ball. They both laughed when it flew in the same direction as Charles'.

"It's the wind," Robert said.

They set off walking towards the rough, chuckling at their shared incompetence.

"Nice to be out," Charles said, "shaping up to be a lovely afternoon now the rain has cleared."

"It is, and a good walk around the golf course does no harm. You staying for a drink after?"

"I am. Elsie said she'd pick me up so we can run you home if it helps."

"It does," Robert bent to shift the grass around his ball. "Things okay there then?"

"Yes," Charles felt a little affronted. "Why wouldn't they be?"

"She was gone for a while."

He was surprised Robert knew she'd been away, though he was equally unsure as to why he hadn't told him. "Just family stuff she had to sort out, we all have it."

"That's the truth. I'm thinking of re-mortgaging the house to pay for this damned wedding. Found your ball?"

"Got it. Draining you is it?"

"The well is dry. We've got rehearsals coming up, you know, did you get the dates?"

"Yes, I'm not sure what my role is in this whole thing."

"We're male, just got to show up and do what we're told, old man. So many bloody rehearsals they're coming out of my backside. What the hell's a rehearsal dinner for, we know how to eat?"

Charles laughed, lining up his next shot. "Pleasantries, all of that." He thought of Mary organising and planning; of course she would have the best, be thorough, precise. "So, there's a dress code I see?"

"That's another sodding thing, designating the colours that can be worn."

"Kind of makes it look artistic I guess, on the photographs." He shrugged, "I don't mind that, easy for men."

"True. Has er, your Elsie got an outfit yet?"

"Not asked her."

"But she will be there?"

"Of course she will," he almost lost his cool, but instead gave the ball a thudding whack. "I already told you, we're fine."

"You did."

"Lots of weddings coming up."

Robert hit his ball, grimacing when it didn't reach quite as far as Charles'. "That's right, Izzy's too."

"And William's."

"Charlie's kid?" They set off walking again, "You're going to that?"

"I am, we are."

"Didn't realise you knew him well enough." When Charles only shrugged Robert pressed on, "Will it be okay, there with Alice?"

"I don't have any feelings for that woman." He said sternly, then softened his tone, "Not anymore."

"No, but still, dangerous game perhaps…"

Charles stopped, staring at the back of his old friend's head as he walked on, "What are you hinting at?"

Robert stopped, turning to face him, "I'd never say anything, I never have, to nobody. But I had my suspicions."

Charles felt his heart race, "About…?"

"We both know what about, and we both know why you're going to William's wedding. We don't have to discuss it, just, be careful, you know."

He fixed his eyes on the toe of his shoe where the leather was blackened with soil and grass stains. "You think I'm foolish?"

"I have never thought that, ever. I was there, remember. I saw what you went through, I know how you loved her." He stepped closer to Charles, "That kind of love is hard to let go of and Alice, well, she's quite the… well…"

"You can say it. Bitch."

"I was going to say manipulator."

Charles smiled, "Elsie says bitch."

"She might have a point."

He breathed deeply, the air sweet with freshly mown lawns and the blossom of spring. "But he's my son," he said, feeling the joy bubble within him at the sound of the words.

"Yes. I suspected as much." Robert dug his club into the ground, "Does he know?"

"He does now. We're… well, working on it I guess. We've had a few dinners, lots of talking. I just can't suppress this need to apologise to him all the time, for not facing up to it when he was just a baby."

Robert narrowed his eyes, "No need to feel guilty, we all have mistakes in our past, things we'd rather keep hidden. And besides, it's not like you shirked anything, he has a father."

Charles nodded, "That's the hard bit, as much as I might want to embrace my role I would never want to take it away from Charlie, no matter what he did to me."

"Water and bridges hey." He slapped Charles' shoulder, "Time's past, what's done is done and if you have this chance to be friends with him well good. All I'm saying is be careful how you handle it, I don't want you to be let down again. She's done it before." He said more forcefully, "I don't want _any_ woman to let you down."

Charles' eyes narrowed, "Elsie?" He shook his head, "Hang on a minute."

"I'm not saying anything negative, I just want to be sure you're secure. You've almost given up your business, you're living in her house, Tom has your blasted flat on her say so."

"You're still angry over that? I told you he's a decent sort when you get to know him."

"Oh, I know I'm just," he balled his fists, "I just want to be sure you're safe. No mistakes. Nobody taking advantage of you."

"Well you can rest assured nobody is." He glanced up the hill at the sound of more golfers coming their way. "Look, maybe we should knock it on the head for today, the mood's kinda…"

"No, come on. It's just old mates talking and there were things we needed to say. I'm not going to harp on."

"You don't like the woman I love."

"I don't dislike her, I just don't really know her. And I saw how 'love' can change someone, look at my Sybil."

Charles realised right then it was grief driving Robert's words, a bitter seed buried somewhere, not the outright sadness Cora exuded but something dark and cherished. The friend he used to know was still there, only tarnished.

"Shall we play on?" Robert asked and Charles gave a short nod.

* * *

They played but his heart wasn't in it. Robert won, which wasn't unusual; Charles didn't care, which was. He surreptitiously texted Elsie on the return to the club and asked her to meet them in the bar. She arrived just as they were halfway through their first drink and waved to him before ordering a glass of wine.

"Hi honey," she said, bending to kiss him and then greeting Robert, "So, who won?"

Robert raised a hand, "We should keep score, put money on it."

Charles rolled his eyes, "I'd be a pauper." He took Elsie's hand when she sat in the lounge chair beside his, resting it on the arm of the chair and folding his fingers around hers. "And no wonderful holiday to look forward to."

"Where are you off to again, Greece?"

"Santorini," Elsie reached into her bag, "look at this fabulous hotel we booked. Isn't it blissful? I found it and fell in love immediately."

For some reason Charles felt himself bristle at her words; he was seeing things through Robert's eyes now and that displeased him – she was lovely and his friend should be able to see that.

"It's my fault for introducing her to the luxury last year in Spain."

Elsie sat back, putting her phone away, "Well, that was your treat last year. This year it's mine."

"You're paying?" Robert said, draining his beer.

"My business is doing well and I'm going through a, what do you call it?"

"Metamorphosis," Charles suggested. "She's selling three quarters of it off and rebranding."

"Is this the thing Tom mentioned? I hardly listen to the lad but he said you and he might work together."

"We are, we will be," she said. "Soon enough. We're going to start flipping houses."

"Sounds like an American term."

She chuckled, "It is, and Charles hates it. But basically that: buying, renovating, selling. Tom and I together."

Robert's eyes widened, "So he's staying local then?"

"As far as I'm aware." She inwardly frowned at the implication; it seemed to her Tom was bending over backwards to try and make things work. "He wants to be here for Sybbie, so she can see her family. Didn't he look at nurseries the other week with Edith?"

"Well yes, but I never thought." Robert shook his head, "I'm glad." He settled on. "Be good for Cora to have her granddaughter nearby. For all of us."

Elsie nodded, "It will." She took a long drink of her wine; she never found communication with Robert easy. "So, you're going away?"

"Maybe later in the year, after the wedding."

"Oh yes, how is everything going?"

He nodded, "Good, I was telling Charles how damned expensive it all is. I can understand why marriage numbers are falling, people are choosing just to live together, save their cash."

"Best to do it the right way though," Charles said, "And Mary will be heavenly I'm sure, walking down that aisle."

"No doubt," Elsie glanced at Charles' slightly dewy-eyed expression; he had a real soft spot for Mary.

"Right, another round?" Charles said, getting to his feet. "Same again, Robert? You alright Elsie?"

"I'm fine, thanks, driving remember."

"Ah yes. Won't be a tick."

Elsie sat back again, crossing her legs and feeling glad she'd worn her good coat to come and collect them. It was high class in here, everything gilded around the edges.

"Can I ask you something?" Robert said, his eyes fixed on Elsie's face.

"Sounds serious."

"It's just that, see, serious, are you serious?"

"About Charles, of course. How can you –,"

"I don't mean to be rude. But this has lasted longer than I thought it might."

She almost choked on her annoyance, "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"You don't understand, I've seen Charles through a lot of half-baked romantic attempts and they always fall flat."

"Nice analogy." She put her glass down, lowered her voice, "I'm not stringing him along, nor using him."

Robert's eyes cast to the ring, "And that? A pretty bauble or more?"

She wondered if Charles had mentioned the proposal to him; they'd always seemed so close but perhaps there were some things Charles still kept to him. "Just a gift," she settled on, "a very beautiful, generous one."

Robert was going to ask more but Charles returned, setting the pint in front of him.

"Do you want to call at the pub on the way home," he asked Elsie, "Sunday carvery?"

"I've cooked," she proclaimed. "Steak and ale pie, all by myself and very proud I am too."

"You see what I've landed myself with here?" Charles smiled, leaning over to kiss her, "Perfection."

Robert nodded, "Yeah, it certainly seems you have."

* * *

 **May**

"He's talked of nothing else," Ethel said, holding up the glasses as Elsie filled them with pink fizz. "Mr. Carson's voices. He wants Mr. Carson to read to him every night. Mr. Carson and the trains and the seeds and the bike ride to the park."

Beryl laughed, "I'm sorry but the image of Charles on a bike is hilarious to me."

"What colour you having, Anna?" Isobel asked, helping herself to some of the salads laid out along the kitchen counter.

"Vibrant racy pink," Anna said, one hand held beneath the UV lamp whilst the nail technician painted the other. "Suits my current state."

"I have to say the feeling's mutual," Elsie said, handing out glasses of wine to everyone. "He does love spending time with him."

"Like he's having another go you think?" Beryl asked, taking a seat at the other end of the table where the beautician was preparing to give her a facial.

"Having another go at what?" Anna said. "He's never had kids."

Elsie popped a cherry tomato into her mouth, watching the exchange with a sense of anxiety in her chest. _Was it only a year ago since she feared she might be pregnant?_ She eyed Anna's slight bump with a confused mixture of joy and regret.

"I mean you know, having his chance now, to be like a Granddad or something. To be around children."

"Oh, I don't think he wants to be around children," Elsie laughed. "Just Alfie, though he's fond of Sybbie too, sentimental about her."

"For very obvious reasons," Isobel observed.

The French doors were open and the sunlight streamed into the kitchen, a warming pool of light at one half of the room. Socks lay on his back, stretching in the heat and yawning.

"He's got some life," Ethel said, watching the growing kitten. "Lives better than I do."

"You ought to know, only the best for Elsie's little boy."

Elsie rolled her eyes, taking a seat in the rocking chair Charles had brought down for the occasion. Socks immediately rose and jumped onto her lap, resettling to sleep.

"Aw, he loves you," Beryl chuckled.

"I am very lovable," Elsie preened, "Or I used to be. I've got more lines now than I care to admit. And this thing…" she laughed at herself, comfortable with these women to laugh and tease and reveal things she'd usually keep to herself. "…my breasts seem…"

"Lower?" Beryl suggested, "Knee warmers?"

"Now you can sod right off there!" Elsie replied and the others laughed. "Looser is what I was going to say, the skin," she pushed her chest up, "I think they're still pretty fine for my age."

"Let's have a proper look," Beryl prompted and Isobel rolled her eyes – the two of them together pushed each other, it had always been that way.

"No fear," Elsie started to roll up her top until Isobel stopped her.

"No!"

"She's only joking," Anna said, swapping hands in the machine and admiring the work so far. "This was a great idea, Elsie."

"It was. And a really nice treat too," Isobel said, glad to move the subject on. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. I wanted to thank Anna and Ethel really for coping with things during my absence last month and then going away again next week…" she cringed at herself. "And of course, it's Miss Beryl's birthday whilst I'm away so I thought a nice beauty treatment day would be good fun."

"If you'd got that Jacuzzi in then we could all be in that this afternoon too." Beryl pointed out.

"Charles and his shed instead," Elsie said. "He's not sure we have room for one now."

"Bloody hell, Elsie Hughes' decisions being prompted by a man!"

"Shut up," she glared, and Beryl blew a kiss at her.

"Only joking darling. Long as you're not going to tell me the breast concern is because he's disappointed."

"Now, you know that's not true." Isobel laughed and the others stared at her, surprised. "What? I'm just pointing out the obvious."

Beryl chuckled, "It's been rather nice to just have to get to know the one man's name, you bringing the same person to things for well over a year now."

"Now, this seems familiar, let's pick on Elsie's sex life."

"Easy pickings!"

"Let's talk about Izzy's wedding or Anna's baby…" Elsie said.

"Rather than your breasts or whether you need to consider a new type of lubrication!"

Isobel gasped, "Enough!" She eyed the giggling beauticians. "Anna, how is the pregnancy going?"

"Oh I'd rather talk about the other thing," Anna snorted.

"Alright, alright," Elsie got to her feet, depositing Socks back on the rocking chair. "We're too old for these kinds of conversations nowadays. That's wine in the afternoon. I'll make a pot of tea and get those cream cakes out Charles brought."

"Where is he anyway?" Ethel asked.

" _I'll make myself scarce,_ is what he said," Elsie smiled. "Probably sitting in the park reading his book or something."

"Sweetie," Ethel replied. "So tomorrow then?"

"Yes," Elsie filled the kettle. "If you're both here for the normal time and then I'll drive us to the new place. Tom will meet us there."

"All going ahead then?" Isobel asked. "The big move?"

"Going smoothly. I'm hoping we'll be fully moved in before Greece."

"Sooo much space," Anna said, helping herself to food now her nails were done. "Got my own office."

"She's all executive now," Elsie said, "she deserves it. And it means Anna can still run the rentals we have left and Tom and I can concentrate on the new side of things."

"Buying and selling?" Isobel asked, "That's right, yes?"

"A-ha, the second sale has almost gone through and I've got two more on the market. If I can slim the rentals down to just the student area and sell the rest that frees up enough capital to focus on renovations. And hopefully making much more money."

"So exciting," Ethel said, "I can't wait to get started. And to work with Tom."

Elsie and Anna smirked at each other.

"What was that look about?" Beryl jumped in, "I saw that look."

"Somebody might have a little crush…" Anna said in a sing-song voice.

"Just a _little_ one." Elsie teased.

"So what, he's single." Ethel said, "And I can look, nothing wrong with looking."

"Ask Elsie about it," Beryl said but Elsie glared at her – some things didn't need to be shared. "Never mind. Let's have some cake."

Elsie turned to pour the tea, hiding her blushing cheeks at her friend's comment. Some things about her life she now felt ashamed of; the many men, the no-strings sex, and Tom, her past relationship with him. She regretted it now because, though he was her friend and business partner, there would always be a sense of awkwardness between him and Charles. Not that it was jealousy on Charles' part, he was secure in how they felt towards each other, but the plain fact was Tom had seen her naked many times in many positions and for Charles that was just something you couldn't quite erase from your mind.

It was after three and the front door went, "Only me," Charles called from the hall. "Safe to come in?"

"Yes!" They all called in return and he came in smiling, a bunch of flowers in his hand.

"Oh hello darling," Elsie said gleefully, reaching for the flowers.

"Ah, wait," he kissed her cheek, "hello. But these aren't for you. They're for Anna. I realised I never have given my explicit congratulations on impending motherhood."

"Why thank you," she took the flowers and hugged him. "Very nice of you."

"Are you upset now?" He asked a pouting Elsie, playing along with her childish face.

"No, because you are sweet," she said. "A package came for you by the way."

"Ohh great," he shrugged off his jacket. "Wonder if it's the stuff I ordered for the train set."

She raised her eyebrows, "Bloody big packaging if it is. I put it in the back room."

"Right…" He sloped off to inspect his buys and Elsie sat to have her nails done. "I want them a nice pale colour, something classy for my trip. But bright red toe nails!"

"Good choice," Beryl said, helping herself to cake. "Bit of sexy on the bottom half to distract from your saggy boobs."

"I'm going to hurt you," Elsie said, " _Friend_."

Beryl squeezed her shoulder, "You know I love you. Gorgeous, firm-breasted friend."

"What the bloody hell?!" They all stopped laughing as Charles shouted from the other room, before storming in holding a traffic cone. "What the hell's this?"

"Well, it erm, looks like a traffic cone."

"Yes, but why have I got it, or, more to the point, six of them sitting in the dining room?"

"How do I know?" Elsie shrugged, "I don't know what you get up to ordering off ebay. Why do you need traffic cones though?"

"I don't," his face was red and flustered, bumbling as he couldn't get his words out quick enough. "Well, not these kind. I damn well… bloody, bloody idiots. I ordered traffic cones for the model train set, they should be no more than a centimetre in height."

The women in the room started to snigger, and Elsie bit her lip, torn between feeling sorry for him and dying to laugh.

"Are you sure you ordered from a train seller?"

"Yes, I'm sure… I searched for traffic cones and train line model dammit traffic cones." He held it up again. "What the buggery bollocks am I going to do with all these? Use them to run the train around in the garage?!"

"Or block the door so nobody goes in whilst you're playing in there," Elsie suggested and then they all collapsed into fits of laughter as he stood in the middle of the room feeling faintly ridiculous.

"I can see I'm not going to get much sympathy here."

"Oh, I'm sorry love, I know better than to leave you alone when playing on the internet."

He glared at her, "Thanks."

She got up from her seat, one unpainted hand resting on his shoulder as she gently said, "Look, why not help yourself to tea and cake then go upstairs and ring them, if there's a number, or email, and explain there's been a mix-up and can you return them?"

He shook his head, "I'll just order something else."

So like him, he wouldn't want to embarrass himself and admit the mistake. "Okay," she patted his shoulder soothingly, "You do that darling and we can maybe use the cones when we're having a party to secure part of the street for parking."

He glared again as the women continued to chuckle.

"Read the small print this time, Charles," Beryl called after him as he sloped off upstairs. "You're going to have to cheer him up later, Elsie."

She sat back down, still giggling. "You know what, when we're getting ready for bed he always uses the bathroom second. I'm going to line them around the bed whilst he's in there!"

"You tease!" Isobel chuckled.

"That's what he's stayed for, clearly." Beryl laughed. "Her teasing!"

* * *

Later that night a rather grumpy Charles sat side-by-side in bed with Elsie reading. Or rather he was glaring at his book, Elsie was reading hers. He sighed again, grumbled under his breath and she turned the page in her book, doing her best to hide her amusement.

"What time are we collecting your mother tomorrow?" She asked, glancing at the clock.

"11:00, thought we'd take a drive before lunch, if the weather's nice."

"Good idea. If we take one of those wheelchairs we could have a wander around the village, let her look on the market stalls or something. Just to get some fresh air."

He sighed again, "Yeah. Bet it rains." He put his book aside and threw back the bedsheets, pulling on his dressing gown. "Going to get a drink. You want anything?"

"I'm fine," she said gently, feeling a faint pang of sadness for him as he wandered off, hands in pockets, sagging shoulders.

Downstairs Charles made himself a Camomile tea before returning to bed, Socks was scratching the top of stairs and he tapped his bottom lightly as he passed him. "Stop that, we'll have no carpet left."

The kitten bit his finger before running back downstairs and skidding across the kitchen floor.

"Sodding cat," he moaned as he turned off the hall light. "Does what he wants. You're too easy on him."

He pushed open the bedroom door. Elsie sat naked on top of the bed, pillows piled behind her, her legs crossed, arms crossed… and a traffic cone on her head.

"Now, Beryl says my boobs are starting to sag," she said calmly. "I need your opinion."

Without missing a beat he closed the bedroom door behind him, "You can take that off your head for a start, they're going back, I want a refund."

She chuckled, "Don't you think it's fetching?"

He couldn't help but laugh, "Beryl is bloody blind as a bat," he said, putting down his tea and untying his dressing gown as he stared at her breasts.

She pursed her lips, "So, I don't need any work on them?"

"Don't you dare."

"Do I get a more thorough inspection?"

He shook his head, his bad mood quickly dissolving as he unbuttoned his pyjama top. "Take off that sodding cone."

She held onto it, moving onto her knees in the middle of the bed. "Oh, I was hoping to see if you could make love to me without it falling off. We could make it a game."

"You look like a gnome."

"You're filthy!" She teased, "A naked pornographic gnome, do you have one in your shed?"

He knelt on the bed, grabbing hold of her waist, "Come here – time for your inspection!" He said, throwing the traffic cone to the floor.

* * *

 _Next time, they're on holiday and chapter 41 is already 3/4 done yay! :) Please let me know you're still with them xxx_


	41. Chapter 41

_Warning: scenes of a sexual nature ahead :-p_

* * *

 **Chapter 41**

 **Late May**

Elsie walked ahead of Charles along the aisle, peering at the seat numbers and waiting as a young couple struggled to cram their bags into the overhead storage ahead of her.

She took the window seat, Charles preferred to be able to stretch his legs if need be, but they had been lucky to book one of the two seaters towards the back of the plane and she was glad of their relative seclusion. She knew Charles well enough to know he didn't much enjoy mixing with strangers, especially in confined spaces.

She patted his knee, and smiled over to him, "Comfy?"

"As I can be. What are you smiling about?"

"Just you, darling, just you." She kissed his cheek.

He frowned, "Not sure if that's good or bad."

"Good, very good. You make me smile."

"Laughing at me or…"

"I would never laugh at you," though she did indeed laugh again, leaning into his arm. "Let's hope the flight goes quickly," she glanced around as the last of the passengers filed onto the plane. "Oh shit."

"What?"

"Nothing, I just," she lowered her voice to a whisper, "know that guy."

"Know him, how know him?"

"Intimately," she said, hiding her face behind the in-flight magazine.

Charles scowled, puffing out his chest as he eyed up the man coming towards him.

"Many years ago," she added as he passed them, a woman close behind him. "Only lasted a few months, wasn't for me."

"Why?" He buckled up and she did the same.

"He was quite, mm, controlling, maybe. Not sure that's the word. He wanted things his way."

Charles chuckled, "Definitely not for you, somebody telling you what to do."

"Bugger off," she said and they laughed together. "Oh well, lovers come and go."

"And?"

She cuddled his arm, "Mr. Carson is here to stay."

* * *

Elsie left Charles in the line waiting for their luggage whilst she nipped to the bathroom, she found him ten minutes later with two coffees in his hand and munching a cookie.

"Hungry were you?"

"To be honest, it was more to relieve the boredom." He held it out and she took a bite. "Got you a latte."

"Thank you darling," she took it from him. "Wasn't a bad flight, not too long."

"Not really, bit of cramp in my leg though." He shook it as if to emphasise his point. "Hope they hurry this up, I'm ready for the hotel and a drink."

"I can't wait to see it, let's see if it lives up to all the reviews."

"If only they could get the luggage out on time."

"What is going on?"

"Some kind of issue at the airport I believe, that's what the voiceover thingy said. Strike going on."

"I didn't hear it in the loo."

"Well, there's been some commotion. Crowd of people at carousel D were complaining because their suitcases have been 'misplaced'."

"Oh bloody hell, I couldn't cope with that. My shoes. My jewellery." She suddenly looked sharply at him, "My ring."

"Which one?"

"My ring Charles, _the_ ring, the en… it's in my suitcase, I didn't want to risk having to take it off through customs so I didn't wear anything. My Spanish one is there too that you bought me."

"I'm sure everything will be fine."

"No but I –," she sighed, turning to the carousel and straining to see if there was any movement beyond. "I don't want to lose them," she said gently, "they're precious to me."

He rested his hand on her shoulder, pressing his fingertips into the soft material of her cardigan. "It'll be fine, nothing can be lost, it was loaded onto our plane."

"Who knows what happens with these things."

Charles shuffled from foot to foot, his back beginning to ache from standing so long; it wasn't like Elsie to worry about these types of things and he felt rather touched that she clearly cared so much. It gave him hope. In his mind it seemed they were already married anyway now, they lived their lives that way – what difference would it make making it official?

"Transfer shouldn't be long," he offered reassuringly, glancing at his watch, "half hour maybe. Then a shower, change, dinner."

She hooked her arm around his, "I can't wait. I really need this. Nothing but sunshine and luxury."

"No children," he added, looking over the top of other passengers' heads for any signs of life.

"You adore Alfie."

"Yes, but I don't want kids on my holiday, ruining the quiet, messing in the pool."

"You old grump," she laughed. "Still bitter about those cones?"

"Don't ever mention them again, that's an episode I want added to your vault."

"My what?"

"Your vault. You once told me that's where you kept past lovers who were a mistake."

"Some belong in a dungeon," she said. "And besides, what about your conquests," she elbowed his side. "Not just me who had sex before _us_."

"Hmm, I like the 'us'," he said, smiling down at her. Her cheeks were flushed from the flight and her hair a little untidy where she'd slept on his arm.

"Tell me, entertain me, who was your worst?" She quizzed, a naughty glint in her eye.

"Your suitcase," he said, glad to end the conversation. He handed her his coffee and launched himself forward, easily reaching for it and wheeling it back to her. "Your jewellery is safe."

"Hero."

"I do look good in a cape."

She laughed at the waggle of his eyebrows, "Go get yours then, let's get the holiday started."

* * *

The red dress. He remembered it well, almost with affection, if you could have affection for inanimate objects. He could remember the feel of the material pressing against him as they danced, the way it moved against her body like a second skin, the fragrance of the warm air, candlelight, wine, her lovely presence.

When she came out of the bedroom wearing it, turning around to ask him to check her zip, he felt his heart race.

"You didn't tell me you were wearing that tonight."

She giggled, "I wasn't aware I had to announce my clothing choices."

"No, but that dress…" he breathed deeply, fastening the zip. "It's distracting."

She turned to face him, hands on hips, "Should I take it off?"

"Bloody tease."

"Well, I like to keep things loose and free, especially now we've been at it a while."

He rolled his eyes, "I wish you wouldn't use that phrase."

"Which phrase?" She prompted, a sharp glint in her eyes – he was too easy to play around with.

" _At it_ ," he shook his head. "It's obscene."

"Oh I could say much worse." She slid her hands over his shoulders, "Would you like to do things to me, Mr. Carson?"

"Are you trying to kill me?"

"Never, just, we're on holiday, we can relax, have fun."

He raised his eyebrows, "Do you think we haven't been having fun?"

She giggled, licking her lips, "We always have fun, we could just… you know…"

"What?" He felt queerly uncomfortable with what she was saying, which was ridiculous really, she was teasing him, seducing him, but he read something very different into it.

"Experiment," she said, before slowly kissing him, dragging his lower lip between her teeth and sighing happily as his tongue touched hers. "Shall we go have a lovely dinner and get drunk in the moonlight?"

"Absolutely."

* * *

They danced after dinner, and despite Charles' protests on their first holiday, he was the one to suggest it this time around. The night air was lit with candles and lights in the trees, the gentle lap of the waves on the shore not too far from the restaurant steps. And the air was warm, the breeze light in her hair.

"Disgustingly romantic here isn't it," she said, smiling up at him.

"Well, of course I arranged all of this," he boasted, a twinkle in his eye.

"Did you now?" She said knowingly, "Mr. Carson, is there nothing you can't do? Even the stars in the sky."

"Very little," he chuckled, "Very little."

She laughed, pressing against him as she did and he twirled her around, kissing the top of her head.

"Have I told you how beautiful you look in that dress? Stunningly beautiful."

"You might have mentioned it, once or twice. Didn't you once say you'd pay me to wear this?"

"I'm not sure money was involved, but there may come a time I'll give anything for it. When I'm old and, er… grey." He said knowingly.

She smiled, "Perhaps white." The song ended and they stopped to applaud the small band and she leaned into him, whispering, "Shall we sit down, have some coffee?"

He nodded and they returned to their table, Charles signalling to the waiter and ordering coffee and brandy for them. Elsie picked at the bread still on the table, sneaking one hand across to rest on Charles' leg, she squeezed it as he spoke to the waiter and, once they were alone, leaned in closer to kiss his cheek.

"I like it when you're all manly and order for me."

"Really? I thought you hated people making decisions for you."

"I do. But you doing it every now and then, _taking charge_ ," she said pointedly, "I rather enjoy that."

"Mm," he reached for the jug of water and refilled his glass, "Noted."

"Noted," she imitated his voice, "Is that right, my dear Charlie?" She kissed his cheek again and they giggled together, like youngsters, as he turned his head to capture her mouth with his. "Ah, now you have lipstick on your cheek," she said, rubbing it off.

"Leave it, shows how lucky I am."

The pot of coffee arrived and, usually, they'd part and sit politely as the waiter poured. But tonight something felt different and they remained sitting close; flirting, teasing, laughing as if it were their first holiday together. There was some form of relief in being away from home, in moving on from the painful weeks and time apart whilst she was in Scotland.

Charles was absolutely relaxed and completely happy.

"You remember in Spain," he said gently as she added cream to her coffee, "as close as we were even then you were so reluctant to share some things with me?"

"Mmm," she sipped her coffee, wondering where he was going with the point.

"I'm so glad we're here, now, I don't mean Greece…"

"I know what you mean, and I am too."

"I've wanted to say something to you," he smiled, "this isn't just some random comment."

"Go on."

She put her cup down, circling the rim with her forefinger; the sparkle of her ring seemed brighter that night and it had surprised her how agitated she had become at the thought of losing it, not just guilt over that fact, but actual sadness, fear, at not having it. Things had shifted so subtly over the past couple of months and the way she'd felt on Christmas Day, almost terrified at the thought of marriage, had gradually shrunk and become so much more of a palpable prospect.

"About Becky." Charles said, shifting her attention. "You know I feel the same about her, I mean, I'm not completely without feeling."

"You aren't at all."

"I do notice things, even if I don't always say. And I know how you worry about her, about the future."

"Charles, you don't have to make promises or…" she shrugged, "take on my problems."

He squeezed her hand, " _Our_ problems, we share everything now." He said, holding her gaze; she might still not be ready for marriage but that didn't mean they weren't, to all intents and purposes, already husband and wife. "When anything happens, that's all I'm saying, of course I want her with us. And, if that means relocating and me taking up wearing a kilt then so be it."

Her eyes glistened in the candlelight, she didn't speak, only gave the slightest of nods. They didn't have to cement anything or make firm decisions, but the fact he'd made the offer, the fact she could rely on them being forever, that was enough.

"You do have great legs," she said lightly causing him to chuckle.

"But, to be more precise," he said, leaning in closer to her, "I've been thinking about your old office space above the garage and a spot of renovation."

"You want to put the train set up there?" She said coyly.

"Course not. A flat, perhaps, for when Becky and your father visit. And maybe looking ahead, in time, if she ever felt comfortable enough to move here."

"Maybe…" she said softly, looking into her brandy glass. "I guess we can try and see how it goes. If she got used to it, stayed more often, understood Scotland wasn't that far away."

"Exactly, it's worth a shot darling."

She nodded. It was. That didn't mean she was entirely ready for such a change; having Becky there would change both of their lives – in wonderful ways, yes, but it also meant that they would never be 'free' in the way they were now. Taking care of Becky was full time and she wasn't sure Charles fully appreciated that, nor that she was ready for it. She felt instantly selfish for that thought. A mixture of excitement at the prospect of her living with them, and apprehension of the very same thing.

He watched the emotions play across her face; they didn't have to discuss anymore now, it was enough he'd raised the idea. "So, what shall we do tomorrow?" He said, shifting from his coffee to his brandy. "There's some good tours, I got a few leaflets, or a walk…maybe too hot for it, we'll see."

"I have no preference, you can choose. Just as long as I get to sleep in. And float in that infinity pool."

"I think I can manage that," he kissed her again, running his fingers down her arm, noting the tiny delicate hairs rising to the pads of his fingers. Slow seduction was the order of the night, the type of thing that could only occur when on holiday, free from the day-to-day routine. "Have I happened to mention before how beautiful you are?" He whispered.

She laughed, repeating her earlier phrase, "Once or twice." She leant in to his warmth, her chin nudging his cheek.

"Got myself some new swimwear for this trip."

"That's interesting, because I happen to have bought new bikinis."

His eyes widened just slightly, "Lucky me." He pressed his hand wide on her back, kissing her mouth tenderly and carefully. He felt her fingers flex against the bare skin at the nape of his neck and he revelled in the feel of her touching him. She was gentle yet sure, loving but tempting, and he still got that swooping feeling in his stomach whenever he thought about the fact she wanted him.

He kissed along her jawline, hearing her sigh in response, her fingers just slipping up from his neck into his hair.

"Acting like newlyweds…" she whispered by his ear and he hummed in response, moving his face back to hers.

"I want to taste you," he said, his voice even deeper than usual.

Her breath caught in her throat and she could feel her heartbeat thud in her ears, a familiar tingling warmth between her thighs, somewhere deep in her core this want – sudden and urgent. She licked her lips, watching his eyes darken with desire; he could still surprise her, every now and then, when his lust for her was allowed to run over and suppress his usual polite and polished demeanour.

She touched his face, opening her mouth to respond.

"I thought maybe the flight might have tired you out…"

He shook his head, turning to kiss her fingertips, "This paradise has revived me."

Charles looked up suddenly as a couple headed towards their table, annoyed at any intrusion on this moment; Elsie's knees were between his legs and their arms entwined around the other and she couldn't really move to see behind her but she felt her stomach cringe at the realisation of who he was looking at when a voice from her past spoke behind her.

"I thought it was you at the airport." A hand momentarily rested on her shoulder and she tilted her head back, a smile ready. "Elsie Hughes," Paul said, "Is it still Hughes?" He asked, glancing to the tall man slowly loosening his hold on her.

"It is," she backed from Charles' embrace and clumsily got to her feet, her chair scraping the tiled floor as she moved. "Bit of a surprise to see you Paul," she accepted his brief hug, the exchanged kisses to cheeks. "Is this your wife?"

"Yes, Samantha, Sam. This is Elsie."

The pretty blonde shook Elsie's hand, "Nice to meet you. I think I was your rebound."

"Oh, goodness, really." Elsie felt her cheeks warm; she glanced back at Charles who raised his eyebrows at her – hell of a way to open a conversation.

"Is this your husband then?" Paul asked, already shaking his hand.

"No, this is my… this is Charles."

"Her partner," he said, standing to greet Sam, years of training kicking in as he pushed his insistent desire down to the depths of his stomach and assumed a practised polite demeanour. "Are you two staying here?"

 _Of all the hotels_ , Elsie thought.

"No, a way down the hill, we were taking a walk along the beach and saw the fancy bar, thought we'd have a quick drink before we head back."

Charles nodded, and then, because his breeding demanded it, indicated the two empty chairs at their table, "Join us."

Elsie sat down again, maintaining a smile as Paul took the seat across from her and beckoned a waiter to order a bottle – _not a glass_ , she thought wryly – of wine.

"Gotta say it Els, you're looking good."

She screwed her mouth up, reaching for her brandy glass and finishing it off, "Thank you. You look well too."

"Been what, twenty odd years?"

"Must be. More."

"We've been married twenty-three," Sam said.

"And you have children?" Charles asked, his hand reaching to rest on Elsie's leg beneath the table – he sensed her awkwardness and drew her into the conversation with just a kind glance in her direction.

"Two sons," Sam said, taking her wine glass from Paul. "Jon is nineteen, almost twenty. And Simon seventeen, so both adults I guess now. House is suddenly quiet."

Paul draped his arm around his wife's shoulders, "But we can afford holidays like this with them gone. How's your business?"

"Oh doing really well," Elsie said. "And you, you're still with the council?"

He nodded, "I am. Different positions over the years but yes I'm still there."

"And you Sam, what do you do?" Charles asked.

"Oh god nothing exciting, stayed at home mostly really to raise the kids."

"That's important," he said, already taking the measure of this woman.

She smiled gratefully, "I guess. Just gone back into work but only retail, just do a few days in a clothes shop. I like it though."

Elsie felt like she should say something to her but she couldn't think of anything, so she sat and listened. It was rather disconcerting, listening to her speak about her life; Paul's eyes alternating between watching his wife and watching Elsie. They were quite in sync, finishing each other's sentences, correcting each other on specific dates, telling stories between them. She reflected that it must be nice to have that, that lifelong knowledge of each other, there must be security in that kind of thing, a long marriage. A long companionship.

"So, have you two been together long then?" Paul asked and Elsie went to respond, feeling a ridiculous need to lie and tell him it was years and years but instead Charles answered.

"Year and a half," he glanced at Elsie, "I think now."

She nodded, deliberately leaning into him, "Yes. Seems longer though."

"That explains the er…" Paul waved his hand at them, "public displays of affection."

Elsie blushed again, "Oh I don't know…"

"You did look engrossed in each other," Sam laughed and Charles shuffled in his seat, sitting upright and moving his hand from Elsie's knee.

He coughed, "Well, we er, just glad to be here, you know."

"He's not usually like that," Elsie quickly said and she knew immediately it was too much, her tone was forced.

Paul laughed, "Bit more conservative, hey?" He pointed at Elsie, "But you, I remember you."

She raised her eyebrows, "Oh? You make me out scandalous."

Paul knocked back his second glass of wine and poured a third. "No erm, trips to the bathroom were there, during the flight?" He said suggestively.

"Paul!" Sam laughed, slapping his arm, "He's terrible. Really terrible at times." She giggled again and Charles looked away, gazing around the emptying restaurant.

"So, how long are you here?" Sam asked.

"Ten days," Charles said, "Would have been longer but with Elsie's new business developments and other bits and bobs we need to get back really.

Elsie pushed back her chair, "Excuse me, just need the bathroom."

"Cracking dress Els," Paul said as she turned around and she glanced back at him as he cuddled his wife to him. He covered his mouth at Charles' expression, "Saying the wrong thing."

"He's just drunk," Sam said, "he never knows when to shut it." She pressed her fingers to his lips and he kissed them and Charles prayed for the ground to open him up.

He glanced in Elsie's direction pleadingly and she shrugged, "Won't be a second." Funny how they could go from relaxed flirtation bordering on disappearing to their hotel room and then within minutes be in some swirling sea of awkwardness.

* * *

"What a dick!" Charles groaned as the lift doors closed and he sagged back against the wall. "No offence sweetheart, but what the hell did you see in him?"

"He wasn't always like that. Shit, which floor do we need?"

"No idea."

She pressed 'reception' and figured they'd start from there. "This place is so big I've forgotten how we got from our suite to that restaurant."

"I mean, _Els_ for a start."

"It was just a nickname."

"What's wrong with your actual name?" He made a funny sound in the back of his throat, clicking with his tongue as the lift started to move. "And this was just a lover or what…?"

"No, he was a boyfriend, a short lived one but," she shrugged. "You must have ones you'd rather forget."

He gave a slight nod – of course he did.

She pressed her hands against his arms, leaning closer to him, "Don't sulk. He isn't worth it."

"She seemed nice," he said, "so he can't be all bad."

"He isn't. He was drunk tonight. Not a totally bad guy just, you know, wasn't for me."

"Think I should have a nickname for you?"

She rolled her eyes, "I like you calling me _Elsie_."

"You do?"

"Yes," she pressed her body against his. "You say it in a certain way," she tickled her fingers under his chin, "your wonderful beautiful voice."

"I have a beautiful voice?" He said, a hint of a smile returning to his eyes.

"Oh yes," she nodded, kissing the side of his mouth, "a very sexy voice too."

He pressed his hands to the base of her spine, "I do, do I?"

"Mmm," she kissed his neck, "you smell so good."

"New cologne." He breathed deeply, her hand just ghosting over the bulge in his trousers. The briefest of irritations sparked at him as he thought of them canoodling in the lift; Paul's implication of his sex life with her. He shook it off, gripping her face, gazing down at her.

"I love you," she said, somehow reading his unease. "With all my heart."

"I know."

She stood on her tiptoes, her arms over his shoulders as she held herself up. "There's never been anyone in my heart like you, and there never will be again."

"I feel the same."

"Good, so shall we find our room?"

He gripped her tighter as the lift stopped, "I want to go back to that feeling we had before they rudely interrupted."

She smirked as she took his hand, leading him out into the brightness of reception. "Now, let's think. From here we took that cart thing."

"Wasn't far though," he said, remembering the route. He led her outside, confident as always he knew where they were going. She was happy to let him lead, even if they got lost; it made her think of walking dates in their early days or the Valentine's hunt where she messed up the map reading. They had memories. Just not twenty years of them.

She swung their hands as they walked, her bare arm brushing his. It was heady and warm out, especially after the ice-like air conditioning of reception.

"Tell me your most embarrassing shag." She said playfully.

"Bloody hell," he gazed out across the ocean, "I know you want me to say I was a kid and tripped on my pants or something or put the condom on backwards."

"A-ha," there was a wonderful childish gait to her voice that he loved.

"But it was sadder than that."

"Go on," she let go of his hand, sliding her arm up and around his. There was moisture in the air; either the lightest touches of rain or the sweep from the ocean. Tiny droplets clung to his hair like specks of silver stars.

"It was my fortieth and Robert insisted I had a party. I didn't want one of course, but he threw it anyhow, at their place. Marquee in the garden, plenty of booze, my favourite foods, that kind of thing."

"That sounds lovely, you didn't screw around with a niece or something did you?"

"No."

"Good."

"A second cousin."

Elsie gasped, scandalised as she looked at him. "I would never have expected…"

"Well, wait, it gets better. She was a bit younger, 32 or something, lovely looking woman, easy going…" He shook his head, cringing as he remembered. "I was a pity shag."

"How do you mean?"

"I'm sure you can work it out. Robert set it up, have fun with me or whatever, show me a good time. That could've been dancing, joking, you know. But we were drunk and attractive enough I guess. Ended up in Robert's guest room which is mortifying when you have to go down the next morning."

"Have you avoided family events since?" She chuckled. "Wait –," she stopped their walk, and Charles' shoe skidded on the gravel. "– there's no more little Carsons running around, are there?"

"Oh now bugger off!"

She laughed wickedly, "Just checking. Virile Mr. Carson. Who knew."

"It's all very amusing to you I'm sure but actually the entire event, well, I felt a bit upset about it all to be honest. I've never admitted that to anyone."

"Why?"

"Because that's all I could get," he shrugged, "first time I admitted to myself I was lonely. I made the wrong choices."

"Not necessarily," she moved in front of him, sliding her arms around his waist. "Oh honey, I don't want to think of you being sad or lonely."

"Even if it's in the past?"

"Of course, I don't want to think of you being hurt."

He smiled down at her, brushing back her hair as it blew in the breeze. "Last year, when we away together, I thought it was wonderful, that I was in love."

"Mm."

"This year, unbelievably, I'm even more in love."

She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him, pouring her emotions into it. "I feel the same. Every day more."

"Lucky me. The red dress _and_ her love."

"Always," she kissed him again. "Lucky me. I adore you; you do know that, don't you?"

"Yes, I know. Despite your teasing."

"My teasing isn't always so bad though, is it?" She bit her lip, deliberately holding onto it.

"How far is this bloody room?" He asked exasperated. "Where's a damn cart when you need one?"

"Suddenly in a hurry, are we?"

"My luck's in, apparently." He said, tugging on her hand and leading her more quickly down the path.

* * *

He was already kissing the back of her neck by the time they reached the room, Elsie fiddling with the key card as she bridled under his attentions. "Wait," she breathed lowly, finally getting the door open and almost falling inside.

They were laughing together as they tripped inside; Charles kicking off his shoes, fussing with his socks as Elsie found a lamp. She stood back watching him rush to unbutton his shirt.

"Don't you want me to do it?" She asked amused.

"Do you…" he held his arms open. "Really?"

"I may just want to kiss you all over, you know," she shrugged casually, "just for fun." She swayed her hips, just slightly, reaching down to slide up her dress, the split shifting to her thigh.

"Good lord," he was almost panting with need. "I want you," he said, gripping her hips, pulling her to him. "I want every bit of you, I want to be inside you…"

"Yes," she panted in response, her hands flat against the wall.

"I want you to be mine."

"I am, completely, all of me." Her words were cut off as he kissed her, leaving her breathless, her lips sore from the intensity of it.

He suddenly let go of her, and she breathed deeply as he knelt, dragging his hands heavily down her legs, reaching up under the skirt of her dress to rub against her panties, teasing, enjoying the friction as much as she was. He pressed his face against her belly, breathing in the scent of her, the sound of her shattered breathing, the tiny moans of pleasure.

Pulling down her underwear made her eager for more and she almost straddled his shoulder, which made him laugh as he sat back to look up at her – swollen mouth and dishevelled hair.

"Charles…" she breathed, her hands in his hair.

He moved his hands again, one on her thigh holding her legs apart, the other where she wanted his touch the most. He kept his eyes on hers as he touched her, marvelled at the way her hips moved, rotating almost immediately. The movements made his erection twitch and harden; she'd move the same way on him, on top of him.

He groaned loudly when his thumb slipped inside her and the moisture slid down his skin, to know she wanted him was intoxicating. "You're so wet," he mumbled, almost incomprehensible as the gravel of his voice deepened further with lust.

His words were intoxicating; aided by the fact he was so rarely like this, passionate yes, but rarely so vocal in his desires, leading the way. And she let him lead. Wanted it.

Elsie watched as he kissed his way up her body, at how his eager hands grasped at her hips, gathering the material of her dress. His fingers sliding over it, taking in every curve. He wasn't undressing her, he was worshipping her. He lingered on her neck, his lips finding the exact spot where she would groan, tilt her hips forward towards his and seek yet more.

There was the scent of the ocean in the room. The lights of the pool outside slinking across her face as he held her. She gasped when he gripped her bottom, her nails digging into his shoulder.

He chuckled, his mouth next to hers and she breathed deeply, "So forceful tonight."

"What you wanted…?"

There was a luxurious deep velvet to his voice, it wrapped around her, she could feel it coiling like a snake inside her. She couldn't recall ever being so close to somebody. This man. Everything he stood for. What it all meant.

He lifted her up and she gasped again as he held her, upright, her dress pushed up around her thighs as he carried her to the bed and ever-so-slowly sat her down on the edge of it.

He knelt in front of her, hands on her knees as she smiled at him.

"Darling," he leaned forward, kissing her, "my love."

He laid her back, gently pulled her back to him, so her feet were flat on the floor. She lifted her head to watch as he pushed her skirt up, kissing her legs, stroking her skin. The slightest hint of stubble on his chin tickled the tender skin of her thighs and her leg involuntarily moved at the sensation, he only held her tighter, kissed her harder.

When he had her completely exposed she tried to keep her head up, to watch him for as long as she could, but when his mouth touched that most sensitive spot she jerked below him and flopped back onto the bed.

Confident, Charles slid a hand beneath her bottom, pushing her up just slightly. Elsie loosened her hips, let her body roll to his movements, his desires. It was rare he took control like this; there had been men in the past with whom she hadn't felt comfortable with when they were in charge, always a slight hint of uncertainty riding beneath it. But with him she would have done anything he asked, right then, in that wonderful moment.

She pressed her hands to his head, remembered his words out at their dinner table, 'I want to taste you.'

"Talk to me," she gasped, "Charles, say… tell me…"

Her nails raked over his scalp and it occurred to him how much he enjoyed that, he must ask her to do it more often.

He kissed her thigh again, "What shall I tell you?" He whispered, the gravel of his voice as intoxicating as the feel of his cheek against her most tender spots. "That you're exquisite?" He kissed her again, bending her legs, lifting her feet up onto the edge of bed and sliding his fingers down behind her knees.

She jolted again, giggling at the sensation.

"Ticklish there," he bent his head down, used his tongue instead of his finger and she gasped. "I know where you're ticklish Elsie." He sucked on her skin, "Every. Single. Spot."

He sat back, pressing her knees together, resting his chin on top of them so he could look down on her. "How about how divine you look in that dress? That colour. The shape of you."

She smiled, her entire being humming with pleasure, "The shape of me?"

He kissed the top of her knees, "To me, you are perfection."

Her cheeks were flushed, she felt the burn moving down her neck and over her chest, her nipples aching to be touched by him. But he kept her dressed, deliberately it seemed, and made her wait and watch as he got to his feet and removed his clothes.

"Am I to stay put whilst this show's going on?" She said, "I want to touch."

"Later, you need to be patient."

"I'm not the patient kind…" she teased, lifting her feet and placing them on his belly as he stood before her.

He shook his head at the giddy expression on her face, circled her feet with his hands. "Experiment… was it that word you used?" he pulled her suddenly down towards him, so quickly she clutched at the sheets, gasping his name and spontaneously laughing at the movement.

She quickly understood his intention and let him guide her legs around his waist, her back still on the bed, Charles standing over her.

"Dear Lord, I do love you," he moaned, inching inside her, delicious unity. His head fell back and he exhaled, the air travelling up his neck tight and whole, like life was leaving him and returning. He took one second longer than he usually would to simply enjoy each and every sensation: the heat between them, the way their bodies fit together, the depth of her breathing as she lay still on the bed before him.

He stared down at her, his eyes dark with lust. His fingers travelled down behind her knees, holding her legs ever tighter as he suddenly hoisted her higher up towards him. She yelped in surprise, took in the slight tug of a smile on his lips, or was it confidence? Something in his expression that added an extra depth to it, something that made her stomach swoop and swirl.

She reached a hand up towards where his fingers held her legs, the tips of her nails brushing his knuckles. She opened her mouth, licked her lips, breathed out warm air upon them.

And then he moved.

Back and forth, like the waves of the ocean. This wasn't tenderness, though most of their lovemaking revolved around it, this was quick, instant, filling him with as much need as it quenched.

Elsie's body relied on his holding hers; her bottom against his outer thighs, her legs still grasped around his waist though loosening with every thrust. His movements were deepening and she was losing the strength to hold herself up. The sounds coming from the back of her throat were unmeasured, raw and abandoned. She wasn't sure if it was the new position or the fact the man she so deeply loved was doing this to her.

"You're the sexiest… sexiest…" he murmured, his eyes still on her face, his voice laboured and intense. The way she moved before him, the sight of her body twisting in that red dress, a second skin.

"Yes, talk to me."

He'd always felt self-conscious doing that when any woman had asked him before, but now the words came free and easy. Mindless murmurs of pleasure and adoration, the deep warm tone of his voice travelling over her skin, so much so she felt her nipples hardened simply at the way he said her name.

He surprised her when he changed the position, and her throat closed tight as she gasped and reached to touch him. He pushed her legs back, almost so they were above her head, moved from standing to lying above her, kneeling on the bed. The altered angle changed the sensation, shortened his strokes, and it made him slow. He pulled out of her almost languidly, watching how her eyes narrowed and focussed at the movement, the way she chewed on her bottom lip and arched her neck as he slid back inside.

"You feel soooo…" she moaned, the palm of one hand travelling down over her own breasts and stomach until she touched his belly.

He reached down, a sudden need to strip her, and urgently pushed up the dress. She eagerly assisted, pushing her head up from the bed, helping him get it up and over. Then their mouths met, awkwardly, heatedly, in the position they were in.

Charles' natural instinct took over and he felt his hips pound into hers, the rhythm that had played out since life began. Loving the woman he loved, adored, cherished, desired. His best friend. His lover.

Dizzy with the movement, Elsie gave herself up to it and focussed on the glorious heady sweetness of it all. The tightness in her belly, the slickness between them.

He cried of his love for her when he orgasmed, and then held her, lifted her, moved just so until she fell apart around him. Committing to memory the exact second it occurred, the swell and tightness of her body on his.

Her legs fell, his body collapsed on hers, and for long, long minutes they lay breathless and sticky, the whir of the welcome air conditioning casting over their skin. Like one body, tangled together in completeness.

* * *

Elsie protested at the disturbance to her sleep, murmuring as the warmth behind her shifted. She was vaguely aware of the brief sound of running water, the shuffle of feet on the floor and then the creak of a window opening.

"What are you fussing with?" She mumbled, eyes still closed.

"Opening the balcony door," Charles crept back to bed, snuggling up behind her again, his arm over her waist as he kissed the back of her neck. "Comfy here."

"Mmm…"

"It's beautiful out there," he whispered, "a fresh warm morning." He closed his eyes again. "And just the two of us."

"That's the bit I like."

His chin rested in her hair, her hand over his on her stomach, and they lay in silence cuddling in the soft embrace of the bed. The drapes over the door blew lightly in the breeze and beyond the swell of the tide.

"Listen to the ocean," she said.

"Sea. I think it's the Aegean Sea."

"Smart arse."

"Sexy arse," he teased in return, pressing against hers.

They were silent again, listening to the waves falling to the shore. The gentle lull of it.

"This is bliss," she said, "the sound of nature, lying here in your arms. No pressure."

He kissed the back of her head, "So, I've decided what I want to do today."

Inwardly, she rolled her eyes; she wanted their first day to be quiet and restful, but she also knew Charles and his need to travel and explore. She would go wherever he chose if it would make him happy. "And what is that?"

"Absolutely nothing."

She giggled into her pillow, "That sounds perfect."

"Or we just stay here," he said, kissing her more insistently now, his mouth on the back and side of her neck, over her shoulders.

Sighing happily she pushed herself forward from his embrace and then over, turning until she was on her back and looking up at him. Charles pressed his elbow into the pillow, supported his head with one hand as he smiled down at her.

"Good morning beautiful."

"Good morning," she ran a hand over the slight stubble on his cheeks, "my handsome man."

"What do you think about the plan?"

"I think if I ever doubted your ability to take control you proved me wrong last night."

He raised his eyebrows, eyes wide, "You doubted me? Surely not."

She licked her lips as she smiled, a hand playing in the sparse hair on his chest. "Perhaps for the briefest of seconds…"

"Well, my dear, it's only the start of the week."

"Oh?" She chuckled, "is that a promise of more to come?"

He waggled his eyebrows at her again. "So, my plan?"

"Hmm, as nice a bed as this is, and as beautiful a room as it is… and of course, as good as we are… I think we ought to get a little fresh air today. A little pool time, some reading, perhaps a wander down to the shore. Maybe some breakfast," she pinched his nipple.

"Ow! You think I might need to keep my strength up?"

She laughed cheekily, "Well, you want to keep something up."

"Elsie," he warned, shaking his head.

"What? You made that too easy for me." She lifted her arms up over his shoulders, pulling his head down to hers, the need to kiss him growing ever more insistent. "And besides, as soft and romantic as you've made me, you wouldn't want me to lose that naughty streak entirely, would you?"

"Not for a second."


	42. Chapter 42

**_Well, this took hours and hours and hours... to write. So, I hope you enjoy it. x_**

* * *

 **Chapter 42**

"Good Lord," Charles exclaimed, dropping his catalogue to the floor. He quickly bent, difficult in the small space, and collected it. As he rose his eyes again focussed on the item which had caused him such outrage, and the angle was not at all flattering. He shook his head again, muttering under his breath.

"Darling," Elsie whispered, her hand sliding over his back as he stood still. "You alright? It's awfully hot in here," she said, fanning her face with her own catalogue.

"Not the heat," he hissed, "this awful statue."

She frowned, immediately scanning the stuffed shelves. On the table before him was the statue of a couple having sex, the woman bent over, the man leaning over her, his hands holding her hips.

"Charles, it's hardly scandalous. A couple playing at being doggies."

"Not that one, though that is bad enough." He shifted his body to the left slightly, revealing the small statue that had caused him such shock.

"Oh my," Elsie breathed, and then she smiled and actually bent over to take a better look. "Well, that's… interesting… What's it say in the catalogue?"

"I'm not looking that up."

"Go on," she turned over the tag. "Number 87, read the info."

"Stand up," he said, pressing on her arm. "People will see you looking."

"It's an antique store, you're meant to look." She smirked at his obvious discomfort. The statue was of a single woman, middle-aged from the looks of it, and bent over, her forehead touching the floor by her feet. She was naked, of course, but that wasn't the thing that had so shocked him. Charles' sensibilities were bothered by the fact the woman's hands were bent behind her, one hand on either buttock, and she was holding her bottom open.

"Come on," he said, tugging her arm again and heading past the section. "Let's get out of the nude section."

"Old curmudgeon," she snorted as he dragged her along.

* * *

Elsie poured their tea as Charles drank his entire glass of water in one go.

"Better?" She asked, watching as he sank back in his chair.

"Have we reached the hottest part of the day yet? My feet are killing." He said, eyes closed.

"We did come for some fine weather."

"This air conditioning is bliss."

"It is," she pushed his tea cup towards him, sighing. "There was a time I would've been drinking in the middle of the day, not taking tea."

He opened one eye, "You want to order wine instead?"

She shook her head, "Tea is much desired."

"Not er," he coughed, cleared his throat and sat forward. "Not going off me are you? Boring old sod that I am."

She smiled softly, "No darling, not going off you." She touched his hand on the table, "Because you're mine. So, you want to do anything else in town?"

"I think I'll need a nap," he sipped his tea. "You know, once upon a time I was an energetic young man, could manage the heat, do an entire day's work in full uniform."

"And still have time for romance."

He chuckled, "Always time for that."

She smiled, for the past two days it had been nothing but romance. He'd been attentive, passionate, relaxed. "You want to head back to the hotel then, rest by the pool for the afternoon? We can take a steady walk back, see more of the town."

"Lovely idea, maybe have a cocktail when we get there."

"Maybe, one or two."

Their salads arrived and Elsie refilled their water and ordered more. She keenly recalled Charles' dizzy spell in Spain and wanted to make sure he was fine this time around; taking care of him had become second nature now, as tuned in as she was to his every move and mood.

"So, I've organised a little something," Charles said. "A surprise. To prove I'm not quite so out-dated."

"Oh, not at all." She smiled inwardly, she had sensed he was doing something. "Am I allowed to know what the surprise is?"

"You'll have to know," he said in between chewing his food, "You'll need to be prepared. Did I ever tell you I can sail?"

"What? No!" She laughed, "Don't tell me you can still surprise me."

"I'm not completely without history and yes, at one point on one job I learnt how to handle different kinds of boats."

"Impressive, I've ridden a jet ski. I think I did it well!"

"That I'm not surprised about."

"So," she dabbed at her mouth with her napkin, reaching for her water. "My treat?"

"I said surprise, but hopefully it will be a treat. I'm going to take you out. We've got a little boat, we can take a picnic, have some solitude."

She pursed her lips, her eyes smiling, "And we won't get lost?"

He shook his head, "I can read a map Elsie, and besides, there's on-board navigation."

"How can I trust you won't get us lost or sink the ship?"

"I'm hurt by your lack of trust." He touched his chest, pulling a dramatic face as he did so. "We aren't going far, I've organised this carefully. Methodically."

"How? We haven't had a moment apart."

"What makes you think I organised it _here_?"

"You little plotter," she chuckled. "Charles, you did this…"

"…Weeks ago." He shrugged, "I figured we couldn't go too far wrong with the weather."

"This is rather exciting."

"Thought it might be nice, do something different."

"It's more than nice."

He smiled, pleased with himself, and she watched as he finished his lunch. The look on his face was rare; she'd seen it when he was with Alfie, when he spun the little boy around in the garden or passed on some of his knowledge. A mixture of pride and satisfaction. He had achieved something. She wondered there and then the real reason for their sailing trip – she already had the ring, but the question would be the third time in asking and, surprisingly, she didn't feel the same dread wrapped around it as she had in the past.

If she dwelt on it she might panic, she'd overanalyse it and wonder and question and doubt herself and her ability to commit to anything, anyone, for the rest of her life. So what was the point? Better not to think at all. Better to just go with the flow, as people are apt to say.

* * *

They walked through the town in the afternoon sunshine, down sloping cobbled pathways and slim side streets.

"I always ran out of things to say," Charles said, holding her arm as they navigated a particularly tricky section. "And then I'd feel awkward, or selfish for getting bored."

"You are one of the kindest men I've ever met," she said, sliding her arm tight around his as they walked. "You could never be accused of being selfish. Everyone grows bored, it happens."

"Oh?" He said dramatically, "is that the case?"

"Not with you, of course," she laughed. "Or have you run out of things to say to me?"

"Ahh, now you're twisting things. No, I haven't."

"You think we'll reach that stage where we sit across from each other at dinner in silence? Re-reading the menu and playing with our split ends?"

"What are they?"

"Oh darling, never mind."

"Well, no, we won't reach that stage. Unless we're together sixty odd years, and even then if we're sitting in silence I can stare at you and remember all the times we made love in the past."

"When we could still manage it, you mean," she giggled, stopping to climb onto the wall at the side of them. She leaned in and kissed his cheek, "You sweet old thing."

"I am rather, aren't I?" He circled her waist with his arms. "What you doing up there?"

"I spotted an ice-cream place. Thought we might get one and enjoy it in the afternoon sun."

"There's a reason I love you."

"More than my boobs?"

"They get second place," he kissed her again. "Come on then."

* * *

They sat on the old white steps, sloping down to the sea. The edges of the town were a visage of framed white houses, a jumble of size and shape, lacking uniformity but conjuring a gentle embrace around them. The sunlight had moved, sinking down to border the buildings in a delicate orange. Small houses stood terracotta plant pots outside front doors, red flowers, vines of them grew down the walls, a cascade, waterfalls of flowers.

"How's the coconut?" Charles asked, his voice as gentle as the light.

"Perfect. Your strawberry?"

"Fruity." He elbowed her side and they smiled together. She leant against his arm, her knees bare in her summer dress pressed against the side of his, his white, exposed to the sun for the first time in months. "Good spot, Mrs. Hughes."

"Thank you. Finish telling me your story."

"Which one?"

She licked her ice-cream, leaving a thin coating over her tongue and bottom lip. "The one about running out of things to say."

"It wasn't really a story," he handed her a tissue. "I was just reflecting on that very thing."

"Running out of things to say to old girlfriends?"

"Yes. That. Figured it was always me who was the odd one out. Bit of a loner."

She smiled, "Never. That was good ice-cream."

"You've finished first?"

She got to her feet, dropping her tissue in a nearby waste bin. "You were jabbering on."

His eyes widened at the accusation and he shook his head.

"It's like finding a shoe that fits."

"What?"

"Meeting you."

"You say the kindest things," he deadpanned, but there was a simple truth behind her words which he was fond of, an honesty to it. It was like finding something that perfectly fit. He pushed himself to his feet. "Shall we walk down to the bottom or are you still hankering for that pool?"

"It'll still be there when we get back, an early evening swim perhaps." She hooked her arm around his again as they took the steps down to the bottom, where the sea approached the harbour wall, close enough to be a threat to the town but gentle and glass-like as it swayed in the melting sun. "No nudity this time."

"When?"

"In the pool, as we don't have our own private one."

"Now that was a luxury."

"It was indeed," she giggled. "What is it about holidays and sex?"

"I have no idea, perhaps the relaxation, the stillness and ambience. Or the expectation." He shook his head again, both at her oddly timed questions and the antique shop from the morning. "Those statues," he breathed, "can't believe someone sits with a lump of clay and makes that."

"Why not? Artists have been capturing the female nude since time began."

"I know, but that position."

"It's only like getting the Karma Sutra in model form. You're so easily scandalised."

He couldn't argue with that, he was, and that was fine.

"Remind me to ring mother when we get back to the room."

"How oddly those thoughts link together, but yes, I will remind you."

They stayed a while by the sea, leaning against the wall and watching in silence as it moved back and forth, the tiny crest of a wave like the tipping point of a swan's neck, elegant and smooth in movement.

"I love travelling with you," Charles said. "I've travelled all over the world for so long on my own, it doesn't compare to standing by your side seeing this."

"That's a lovely thing to say. And I agree, I love travelling with you too. For one thing I have someone to stand with who hasn't run out of things to say to me."

He couldn't help but laugh at her cheek, pulling her against him. He stood behind her, kissing the top of her head, his arms around her waist as they took in the view.

"I hope William has this, I hope he's marrying somebody who makes him feel like this." Charles said reverently. "And that it lasts."

"You talk of him with such pride, you know. Did you realise that?"

She felt him exhale, his breath tickling her hair then his chin resting on her head as he thought. "Robert knows," he said, "he guessed, apparently, years since."

"Oh… And how do you feel about that?"

"Not sure, on the one hand hoping it wasn't so obvious to anyone else. On the other, well I suppose it's kind of nice to feel there's a connection there, a bond that someone noticed. Which is childish of me."

"No it isn't." She reached up to press her hand over his where it lay over her shoulder. "It's a good thing Charles, what you're forming with him. And you deserve it."

"Do I?" He lowered his head, bringing his chin to her shoulder, breathing in the scent of her neck and nestling into her warmth. "I behaved so terribly, so reprehensibly. Do I really deserve anything of anything good…"

"Of course you do," she twisted her head, kissing his cheek. "You've never mentioned this before, feeling this way." She looked out to the sea again, content to have him leaning against her in such a way.

"If somebody told me of a man who'd betrayed his best friend –,"

" – I wouldn't call it a betrayal."

"What else could it possibly be. I slept with his wife."

"He wasn't your best friend," she insisted, "the trust had already gone. I don't think you're just to blame. And besides, my darling," she turned, circling her arms around his waist and pressing against him. "You're only human, and cannot be held up as being perfect. Try as you might."

He smiled, "Unlike you," he slid his hands down her back, "who is absolute perfection."

"Mr. Carson, did you just squeeze my bottom?"

"A light tap at best." He leant forward and kissed her nose. "Shall we walk back then, whilst we've still got some of the afternoon left?"

"Yes. You promised me a cocktail."

"I just bought you an ice-cream."

"A girl can never have too much of a good thing."

* * *

Charles resettled on his lounger, picking up his newspaper and shaking it open. Over the top of the crumpled sheet he kept one eye on Elsie, floating around the pool on an inflatable bed, some pink-coloured cocktail in her hand.

"Comfy there are we, Mrs. Hughes?"

"Hmm," she reflected, her lips pursed in smug satisfaction. "It'll do."

It was late afternoon, warm enough to still be out in the pool but quiet now most had retired to prepare for the evening. Apart from an elderly gentleman doing lengths, Elsie had the pool to herself, and there were only a few remaining on the loungers.

Bored by the headlines, Charles threw the newspaper aside and watched Elsie again. Curious how his mind wandered as he observed her movements; the light kick of a foot in the water to move her, the way her left hand trailed behind, skimming the surface, and the sight of her mouth on the straw. Thoughts he shouldn't be having at half six mid-week, erotic thoughts tied up with the delight of her in that swimsuit and the images he'd seen that morning.

Sighing heavily, he got to his feet, stretched and moved to the water. He waded down the steps, bent and kicked forward, doing a few lengths before Elsie opened her eyes and noticed him.

Charles was broad, more so than any man she'd dated before. Taller than most too. She'd never really been attracted to someone of his physique, but then there were so many things about him that went against her past choices. And everything about him was so right. From behind her sunglasses she could watch and approve without anyone noticing. She loved how his round shoulders rose out of the water as he swam, the sharp intake of breath, the strong arms pulling himself through with speed. When he stopped at one end, resting against the edge of the pool, the water slid from his hair and down his back, glistening in the reddy orange of the sun. She watched his muscles move as he stretched his arms after the exertion of his movements, and imagined how they moved when he was alone with her, making love to her.

* * *

Showered and changed, Elsie wandered through the hotel. It was quiet at this hour, a time when guests would be in their rooms preparing for dinner, and Charles was sleeping in theirs. She left him to rest and decided to go down to the exclusive restaurant to book a table, she wanted a spot by the window overlooking the sea.

For more years than she could count she had travelled alone, and, actually, she'd never minded that. She had her own rituals, her way of doing things. That took nothing away from being with Charles, she loved every second of their trips away together, but it was nice to take a few moments to herself.

Ordering herself a G&T, she found a table outside and sat in the early evening sun. She felt something of her old self, just fleetingly; relaxing at the outdoor bar at a luxury hotel, that warm breeze lifting her hair, wearing expensive perfume, dressing the part. She remembered that. She could remember booking day trips, wandering cobbled paths around old towns, shopping in high-end boutiques. Charles wasn't one for clothes shopping, though when they were in Spain she'd disappeared for a few hours and perused the local stores whilst he'd golfed. They had their separate interests and it was important they kept them, she truly believed that.

Tilting her head back she let the breeze stroke down the back of her neck, welcome, refreshing. As a single woman travelling alone there had been no shortage of offers, but, unbelievably to her friends, she had never indulged in anything more than a dance or a drink. She had never felt the need to share her bed with some holiday romance. Perhaps that was some way of maintaining her independence; whilst in a strange land she had to be in charge of every aspect of things, that was more easily done in the comfort of her own home.

She wasn't sure Charles realised how rare it was for her to share a hotel room with somebody, especially a man.

Travelling alone also meant she tuned into things more finely than those in a group, so she knew somebody was behind her, watching her, before she even looked. She had her rebuttal politely formed in her mind within seconds; discreetly switching her ring to her wedding finger and ready to explain how she was more than happy in her relationship.

"Paul?" Her voice stretched, surprised, and her shoulders drooped; she really didn't want to have to chat to him.

"Hi, fancy bumping into you here again."

"Ah yes," she said awkwardly, "fancy."

"Drinking alone?" He moved closer to the table.

"Charles is having a nap," she said, then regretted revealing that, she should have lied he was in the shower or out somewhere. "We're having dinner soon, just thought I'd get a bit of fresh air before I go back."

"Similar idea. You mind if I sit for a second?"

"Course not."

He sat across from her, taking his phone from his pocket and laying it on the table. "Just in case Sam calls." He explained. "I wanted to apologise, I got a bit drunk the other night, bit out of line."

"Oh, forget about it." She took a sip of her drink, "We were all a bit tipsy."

"First day on holiday, got carried away. He's er, not what I imagined you with though, Charles. Seems a nice guy."

"He is," she was relaxing a little, his apology had done that. "He's a wonderful 'guy'." She moved her ring back to its usual position and Paul laughed.

"Putting men off?"

"Something like that."

"Not considering wearing it there full time?"

She pursed her lips, shrugged, "In time, maybe, yes."

"Can't knock it, marriage."

"You surprise me."

"Because of what I said last night?" He shook his head, "I told you, I was drunk, and it was surprising, seeing you after all these years. But marriage, it's been the making of me. And if he is what you want."

She narrowed her eyes, feeling defensive, "Are you so surprised he might be?"

"Not surprised," he sensed her growing impatience. "He seems… steady," he settled on.

She knew what that meant. Dull. Boring. "And I'm unsteady?"

"No, not at all. You were always free thinking though, looking forward."

"Well, he doesn't hark back to the past all the time." She finished her drink. "He's different to the men I've dated before. Perhaps that's why it works, I finally found someone right for me."

"Maybe so. I certainly found it."

She was intrigued by this; she would never have expected it of him. "You truly recommend marriage?"

"More than anything. It settled me, made me find something worth trying for, something I cared for more than me."

"Mm, now that does surprise me," she teased and he laughed.

"I came to see if we might get in the fancy restaurant here towards the end of the week, bit of surprise for Sam, nice treat."

She thought of Charles organising the boat trip and smiled to herself.

"That's nice of you."

"Well, we can't afford it every day –," he paused, reflecting on the fact Elsie was staying there for over a week. He had a sly need to Google how much it would cost just so he knew. "I guess I better be making a move or she'll be ready and I won't." He pushed his chair back and held his hand out to shake hers. "Nice to see you again, Elsie."

"And you," she said, and she actually meant it. "I hope you manage to get a table. And that you enjoy it."

"Thanks. Enjoy your week. Give my best to Charles."

"I will. Take care."

"And you… Good hair by the way, I like it long on you."

"Oh, thanks."

She watched him go, sat there staring after him for a minute or two more before she switched her attention back to the view. It was dark around the edges now, evening curling in upon the day so soft and gentle it could sneak by. She finished her drink. Her mind passing over events, snapshots of memories, half-forgotten conversations: the smell of a damp wax jacket in the back of car; train journeys to new destinations; painting her new home; buying her first car. Friends, holidays, lovers, family, kittens. And Charles.

Why had she held back for so damned long?

* * *

"Charles!" Elsie exclaimed as he took his hands from her eyes and revealed the yacht waiting for them. "You said a boat! I thought you meant some little sail boat thing."

"As if, we'd topple over, even with my ballast."

She giggled, her hand on his upper arm. "I can't believe it, it looks so fancy."

"Well, only the best."

"I never imagined – how can you…?"

"I took a course, like I said. Come on, shall we get on?" He led her to the boat, helping her climb aboard.

"What course? When?"

"Years ago, in Australia. The family liked to sail, I had to learn just in case. Kind of exciting though."

"I'll say, who knew it would be so useful to us." She dropped her bag onto a chair and slipped her sandals off. "This is lovely," she commented, snooping around. "And there's food in here too," she called from the cabin, "and wine."

"I told you, I was prepared."

"You're a real romantic, Mr. Carson," she said, joining him. "When you want to be."

"Well…" he drawled, fiddling with the controls. "…I've got to make an effort, get you to loosen up a bit."

She laughed, "Oh yes, give up the goods right. We have been a bit lacklustre in our efforts this week."

He smirked, "I know. Terrible behaviour. Lack of effort."

She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek before moving behind him, sliding her arms around his waist. "Can I watch you work? That's kind of sexy. You all manly and knowledgeable."

He puffed out his chest, using his lowest tone, "Stand back and be amazed baby."

* * *

It came back easily to him, oddly, and he recalled so well the time spent on the water. Lessons. Determination. He always had to be the best, the most impressive and able. He wasn't always sure where the need to prove himself had come from but it had been a true companion over the years. The need to succeed.

He'd only slowed down when he met Elsie. Or came to a full stop, as it were. At least he was getting going again; he might have less to do with his own business but he was enjoying his new projects, and the assistance he could give helping Elsie and Tom with their new venture. He might not be completely comfortable with their past but he was old enough and big enough to let it go.

His hand hadn't bothered him quite so much neither, especially not when abroad, and he wondered if the warmer climate helped.

He eyed Elsie at the front of the boat, laid back and relaxing in the sunshine as they sped along. The skirt she wore flapped around her legs and she was wearing a large floppy hat and sunglasses, like some kind of fifties movie star.

"Bloody hell you're a lucky man," he breathed to himself, following the navigation and slowing the engine as they approached the intended destination.

It had bothered him, what Robert had said, more than it should have logically. Not that he bought into any of it, and not that he was particularly angry with his old friend. However, it had made him reflect on things, consider what the wider community thought about their relationship. He was almost embarrassed to admit to himself that he'd clumsily proposed three times now: the blurting on the Scottish moor, the half-arsed effort with the ring on Christmas Day, and the angry frustration after Isobel's engagement. None were his proudest moments and he was pissed off with himself for handling it all so poorly.

He intended for this to be different. Okay, she already had the ring, but she hadn't been swept off her feet, there hadn't been Champagne and romance and a bloody gorgeous boat to set the scene. This time he was determined to do it right, to get every single thing right.

"We're stopping here?" Elsie asked from her position perched at the front of the yacht. She pressed her hand to her head, holding down the hat she wore.

"Good spot," he said.

"How do you know? How do you know it's safe?"

"We just gonna have to take our chances with the sharks."

"Charles!" She took her glasses off and glared at him, "I'm being serious."

"Are you nervous?" He chuckled as he came out to her, removing his shirt as he did so and kicking off his shoes.

"Maybe a little. What are you doing?"

"Swimming."

"Here? We're in the middle of nowhere."

"No, we're close to the cove, so it's shallower, should anything happen." He took off his shorts, revealing he was already wearing his swimming trunks. "Thought you were the adventurous one."

"You know I'm a little nervous of the water when I can't see the bottom."

"Well, I'll be there to help." He made his way to the back of the boat, and Elsie watched curiously as he put everything in place, threw out the lifebuoy, and then dived into the sea.

She stood, gripping the side and watching his reflection beneath the water before he resurfaced.

"That's refreshing. Come in, swim with me."

"I'm not sure."

"Elsie, you only live once."

She bit her lip; he was right of course and she usually was the more adventurous of the two.

"I'm not wearing my bikini."

"What? Why?"

"I wasn't sure what was expected so I just packed it."

"Get it on then."

"Where?"

"There, here, you're hardly on display."

"I'd feel it."

"Only the sharks eyeing up their lunch."

She glared at him again but lifted the vest top up and over her head, folding it with her skirt and standing in her underwear. Charles whistled which made her laugh, and she deliberately took her time changing into her bikini, shivering when a stray cloud blocked the sun.

"Is the water warm?"

"Lovely, come on, jump in. I'll catch you – don't I always?"

She smiled, standing on the platform at the end. "Stay right there, in front of me."

"I am."

"You're moving."

"I'm in water Elsie, it moves."

"Don't be sarcastic."

"I'm stating a fact."

"This is not filling me with confidence."

"Elsie…"

"Alright, alright," she took a deep breath, and tentatively peered over the edge. "Oh bugger it," she said and took a huge jump off the edge.

Charles wiped the water from his face, reaching for her arms as she resurfaced near him.

She coughed and spluttered.

"That was fun, right?"

She pushed her damp hair back from her face, "It's surprisingly warm."

"See." He drew her close to him, holding her body as they floated together, the sun hot on their shoulders. "Pretty stunning bikini, darling."

"Pretty stunning setting, darling," she smiled, then kissed him, a mixture of sun and salt water on his lips. Brushing a hand over his chin she frowned, "You're growing a beard?"

"The joy of being on holiday, you don't have to shave."

"You're all prickly."

He deliberately moved his chin over her cheek, "Don't you like it?"

"I guess I could get used to it."

He pressed his leg against hers in the water, "Put you off kissing me?"

"Hmm, hardly likely." She hooked her arms around his neck, pressing her mouth to his. "Hello baby."

He chuckled, "Are you going to talk dirty to me now?"

"If you like."

They kissed again, bobbing about in the water like two bottle tops. He danced her around, turning her in the water. "You're tense Ms. Hughes, more than I'm used to."

"I told you, I'm nervous."

"Brave Elsie Hughes? Never." He moved his hands, holding her secure, "Lay back."

"No. How?"

"I'll hold you, put your legs round me if you want."

She pursed her lips, "Trying to seduce me?"

"Not just yet…" he teased.

"Ah! You're flirting with me." She was laughing as she laid back, yet it took her a few minutes until she felt secure enough to put her head back and look up at the sky. When she was floating happily she felt free, safe and at ease. She let go of where she'd been gripping his forearms and stretched her own arms out above her head.

"Happy now?"

"I'm always happy with you." She said, closing her eyes and enjoying the sun on her face.

"Oh, now that makes me happy." He bent forward a little, reaching to kiss her chest, but she gasped and held him again.

"Don't move."

"Sorry. So. Let's talk."

"About?"

"Life. Happiness, let's start there. Do you think it's possible for somebody to be absolutely happy?"

"Yes."

"That was a quick answer." He moved her without her realising, out of the shadow of the boat and into the broad sunshine. "How? When?"

"The point of orgasm."

He laughed loudly, "That's a completely brilliant Elsie answer."

"I am completely brilliant."

"Also true."

"Ask me another question."

"Alright… What's the meaning of it all? Life?"

"Who says there is one. Not everything needs meaning, sometimes things just are. We're here on this earth, best enjoy it."

"I guess so. Life is short and death is sure – that is all we know."

"Well, that's cheered me right up." She tightened her thighs around him, pushing herself up out of the water as he held her. "You're a poet, my lovely Charlie."

"You want to snorkel?"

She shook her head, "N-a, no way. I'll just float about here near that ring thing. You can do it though, feel free. I'm happy to watch."

* * *

Elsie glanced up at the sound of splashing water; she put her book aside and slipped her sunglasses off as Charles climbed back onto the boat, throwing his snorkel to one side.

"Was it good?"

"Excellent. Really, really excellent. I loved it."

"I'm glad. I took a photo of your stick thingy sticking out of the water, just to show where you were."

"That sounds naughty," he bent down to kiss her, dripping wet to her chest.

"Hey," she touched his shoulder, lightly pushing him back and reaching for his hand. "Help me up."

He did as requested, drying his body as she slipped her sandals on. "Shall we eat now? I'll go get the picnic."

"Sure, I'm starved."

"Okay, won't be a second. Don't forget to reapply the sun-cream if you're sitting there, it's like an oven."

Charles rubbed his hair with a towel, then fluffed it with his fingers as he waited. He stood out at the edge of the boat taking in the view. The sun played with the droplets on his chest, tickling and entertaining itself as it chased them over his skin and he closed his eyes, relaxed. This was perfection. This was paradise.

The words were in his mind now, everything cleared away and made room for truths and simple realisations. He could say it, keep it straightforward. _'I love you. Will you marry me? I'll never want anything else. Anybody else. Ever.'_

No, too much. Simplify it. Cut it short. _'You know I love you. Marry me.'_

Too much like a command. "Oh bollocks!" He muttered to himself. He just wanted to get the words out in one perfect moment and pop the Champagne to celebrate.

He threw the towel aside and puffed out his chest; the day was drawing on and he better just get bloody well on with it before they had to head back to shore.

"Look what I found," Elsie said, climbing down the side of the boat, a bottle in one hand, two glasses in the other. "Champagne. The hotel must be treating us!" She handed the bottle to him, "Get it open, we can have it with lunch," she held up the glasses. "Come on then."

"I er…" he muttered, but she was jiggling from foot-to-foot as if she needed the bathroom. "What's wrong?"

"I need to pee, actually." She put the glasses on the small table, "You pour those, I'll be right back to enjoy it. Hope it doesn't give me heartburn!"

' _Shit!'_ He'd forgotten that minor detail when he'd placed the order.

Reluctantly, Charles did as requested and popped the cork, watching the cascade of golden liquid pour over his fingers. He sucked his thumb and shook his head. "The best laid plans…" he muttered to himself.

"What you say?" Elsie called as she returned with the food, "You hungry? Because it looks great."

"I know, I picked it."

She was surprised by his shortness, "You alright?"

"Mm, yes," he watched as she sat returned to her lounger, crossing her legs, and laying out the various containers. "I am," he said again, feeling bad for being angry. It wasn't her fault she found the Champagne, or that his plan hadn't really worked out.

"Sit down darling, let's enjoy this."

She looked so happy, sunkissed, damp hair curling on her shoulders. He bent forward to kiss the freckles on her nose before sitting sideways on his lounger by her side.

"Cheers," she said, holding her glass out. "Here's to a perfect day. And thanks to you, my handsome man," she leant forward to kiss him, "for organising it."

"You're more than welcome, you know that."

"Love you," she said softly, "very much."

"Love you very, _very_ much," he smiled. It didn't matter, there would be other moments, perhaps on other boats. And maybe they didn't need marriage, it couldn't possibly make him feel any better than he did now.

* * *

It wasn't until the following morning, when Elsie woke early with Charles' head on her chest that she wondered as to his intentions on the boat. He was snoring lightly on her breast, naked to the world, which made her giggle as she watched his bottom move as he squirmed against her.

She drew her fingertips down his spine, tickling back up to his shoulder blades; his hair smelled of salt and took her back to the boat. The tip and fall of the rhythm, how outrageous she felt, naked on her back under the sun with Charles between her legs. She could still feel it moving beneath her, directing their speed and rhythm.

She breathed deeply, her chest expanding at the memory, body reacting to it. How gentle it was, how slow; the lapping of the water mingling with the sound of his voice whispering words of adoration and need.

" _That was my first time," she'd said after, when they were lying side by side under a towel staring up at the bluest of skies._

 _He twisted his head to look at her, "Bloody hell, I didn't realise it was quite such a coup for me. Thanks for waiting all this time."_

" _Sod off, you know what I mean," she shuffled against him, her head resting against his arm. "My first time on a boat."_

 _He lifted his arm up around her, cuddling her to him, "Ah, now I understand." He kissed the top of her head, "It wasn't mine," he admitted, laughter filling his chest._

" _I'd like to say I'm surprised, but actually, I'm not." She rolled over, leaning on his chest, "You have a past Mr. Carson."_

" _Mm, and bits of it I'd rather erase."_

" _Well, we all have things we'd prefer to bury." She rested her head down, "Can we sleep here for a while?"_

" _Not for too long, we need to get dressed and head back."_

" _I'd like to stay here forever."_

She remembered how she felt when she'd said that. It was the absolute truth of her soul, she would have given everything and anything to him. She couldn't recall being happier. Being tied to him, she realised, had already happened, so what difference could a piece of paper make? It wouldn't hurt.

'Oh shit,' she gasped aloud, and Charles snored louder on top of her. She realised, then, that the Champagne, the food, the boat, the destination, it had all been leading to a proposal and she'd ruined it, thwarted his plans.

She felt overwhelmingly guilty for a second, and it filled her stomach, tight and awkward. She would never knowingly hurt him.

He mumbled against her and she smiled as he moved his leg, wrapping it around her, the feel of his morning erection against her.

"Oh Charles," she touched his hair, pressed her hand hard against his shoulder to get him to move. He lifted his head slightly, snapping out of his deep sleep but lolling in dreams. "Charles," she said again, kissing him now, softly at first and then more insistent, until his body instinctively responded. His hands reaching for her body.

She bid him to roll over, and he did so willingly, moaning loudly as her mouth moved down his neck.

His body wanted to wake, but his mind was reluctant to. There was something intoxicating about her doing this whilst he was still asleep, like some kind of young fantasy given new life.

"Elsie…" he breathed into the air, the bed sheets piling on his feet as she pushed them out of the way. He felt the mattress move, felt the silky smoothness of her legs brush against his, he pictured her movements, her kneeling over him.

"Relax," he heard the word like air pooling around him. The sweet pang of temptation, want, desire.

"I need you," he panted, reaching down for her, his hand landing in her hair. His fingers scrunched a section, something gripping his innards as her mouth closed over the tip of his penis.

Her hand was on his inner thigh, nails scratching his skin. She is soft at first, slow as she moves over his hardness. She smiles at the sounds coming from him, which only makes him shudder more. She likes him like this, he is uninhibited, free, and he simply enjoys it without worry or hang-ups.

He feels words at the back of his throat, his mind spinning with the things he wants to tell her, but they won't form, he can't give them energy. He's taking every ounce of focus he has not to push his hips forward, to jerk forcefully into the heaven of her mouth.

Pleasure takes over.

She's humming with it, as if she's enjoying it too, and that brings him such joy, turns him on so much to know she wants to do this, to please him. He feels the vibrations along every inch of his body, it shakes him, completes him.

He's never had a woman make him feel so good, read him so well and to do what she does. The pressure, the slow build up, the angle, the hot wet of her mouth. She knows when to speed up, to move further down the shaft, to bring her hand into play and pay attention to the rest of his body.

When he orgasms the air is sucked out of the world. There is the fizzle of electricity in his brain, and he feels like he's passed out, he can't think or feel, his body is floating and he thinks he'll never need anything else again.

* * *

"Did you ever think you'd be in this position?" Charles said, his hand was in Elsie's hair, tangling the strands around his fingers like silk as she lay with her head on his belly, lying sideways across the bed.

"In the position of lying on the bed with you? Yeah, I kinda thought about it the first time I met you."

He tickled her waist with his free hand, "Not exactly _this_ position, per se," he laughed. "But thank you for saying it anyhow, bit of an ego boost."

"You're getting a lot of ego boost this morning," she rubbed his knee. "I feel happy, is that what you mean, that position?"

"Yeah it can be," he lifted her hand up kissing the back of it before turning it over and kissing the pulse point on her wrist. "I think I fell in love with you all over again this morning."

"Oh the power I have."

"All sorts of power," he sighed, closing his eyes, listening to the sound of the sea outside and the morning chatter of holidaymakers. It was almost eleven and they'd spent the morning in bed, not wasted it; he'd loved every second and it was valuable, essential.

The silence was warm and soothing, as soft as the bed. The comfort of a moment of stillness, alone and content together. Secure.

"My parents had this wonderful marriage," he said, his voice full of reflection. "I guess, in retrospect, I was kinda jealous of it?"

"Why?"

"Because it seemed so easy to them, it came so easy, making it work. I couldn't even find a woman to be faithful. Or someone who wanted to go on a date with me."

"That's silly," she lifted herself up, running a hand through her hair before turning over to rest her chin on his chest. "You're a handsome man, charming, you can control a boat…"

He chuckled, "If only I'd advertised that fact."

"Clearly it worked, if you've been naughty on boats with girls."

"Ah, one girl, one time."

She smiled up at him, lifting her hand to hold his. "I'm glad they had a good marriage, but maybe it was easier then."

He screwed his face up, "Perhaps. But I want a real marriage. A true marriage, Elsie."

She wondered if this was it, his proposal, but he only stared at her and said nothing else about it. If she were braver she would have opened her mouth and took the initiative, but before her brain even figured that out he pulled his hand from hers, flexing his fingers.

"Painful this morning," he said, "the trembles are back."

"Oh, I thought the warm weather was doing it some good."

"It is," he lay his hand flat on the bed as if hiding it away. "Shall we shower, go get some lunch and perhaps wander down to the town for a while?"

"Sure," her voice was wobbly, mind spinning.

"Last full day, let's make the most of it. Sunbathe this afternoon, good dinner tonight. I booked a table on the seafront again."

"Sounds wonderful, I'll go shower." She kissed his chest several times before getting up, reluctant, torn, but somehow unable to stop time from moving forward.

* * *

"Do you worry about the future?" Charles said, using his left hand to pick up his glass of wine.

"In what regard?"

"Me, this," he indicated his right hand, which he seemed to have had trouble with all day. "You might end up taking care of me."

"I wouldn't mind that no, and I certainly don't worry about it. But I do think we should seek a specialist, I'll make some enquiries."

"You don't have to, you're busy with the expanding business."

"I want to."

"I'll do it," he almost insisted, "you can accompany me though, to the appointments, if you want to I mean."

She nodded, picking at the olives in the middle of the table.

The day had been lovely, gentle and calm. Warm weather, walking, chatting, swimming. The easy life.

"You want to take a walk on the beach?" He said, "Last chance to, then we can head up to the bar, get a drink before retiring."

She smiled at that, his language could be so formal at times, "Sure." She felt her pulse increase, as if she was on constant alert now, waiting for him to suddenly drop to one knee and make things real. She knew her answer. She _thought_ she knew her answer.

There were still a few people on the sand; couples walking, a small group kicking a ball about and laughing drunkenly.

Elsie hooked her arm through Charles' to steady her, slipping off her heels so she could walk more easily. She was glad she'd chosen a knee-length skirt that evening; the scenery was lovely and sharing it with him fended off the impending gloom of having to return home and back to structure and alarm clocks.

"Take your shoes off dear, the sand will ruin the leather."

"It's only a quick walk," he complained, but did so at her request, tucking his socks inside. "You want to walk towards the bar we passed the other day?" He pointed out the lights in the distance and she nodded, setting off in its direction.

"So, what was your parents' marriage like?" He asked, genuinely interested. "You've never really mentioned that."

"Functional," she laughed. "I don't know, they weren't the romantic type that's for sure. No moonlit walks on the beach for them."

"Oh."

"I don't know, it was what it was. They were loyal, always, and he looked after her."

"Love?"

"Of course. They wouldn't have lasted all those years, working the farm, dealing with the shit they had to, if there wasn't love." She kicked at a shell with her toes. "She was only young when they married, similar to what I would have been I guess, if I'd gone through with it."

"Everyone married young, my parents were the same. You were single over the age of twenty-five you were dried up."

"Ah well, that's the developments in lubrication that…"

"Don't joke now."

"Why not?"

"It was a serious chat."

She held his arm tighter, "I'm sorry. Okay, so they were… if I had to use one word it would be solid."

"That's fair enough."

"My father was never the happiest of sods, but there was one moment, I was only young, it was Winter and the fields were frozen – he'd been gone all day, all night. I sneaked downstairs when I heard him come in, she'd stayed up and was making him tea, toast. He held her from behind, his forehead pressed against her back. It was the only time I've ever seen them be intimate. When she poured the tea it was gone, over, and I never saw them do anything like it again."

Charles breathed deeply, "That's the power of tea and toast."

She laughed, stopping mid-walk, her body shaking as she giggled. "Especially if you do the toast on an open fire."

"Oh, now we're talking. Lifelong loyalty for that."

She laughed again, turning to face him and pressing a kiss hard against his lips. "Still prickly."

"It's still growing."

The breeze picked up from the sea and Elsie shivered, moving closer to Charles as her skin prickled with goosebumps. "Goodness, its chilly now," she said.

"Because we've been in the sun all day." He put his arm around her, holding her close against his side. "We'll head back up, treat ourselves to a cocktail shall we?"

"Yes, lets." She shivered again, "Oh God, it's made my nipples stick up, hide me behind you."

"Elsie…" he sighed but sniggered anyway. "Fancy having those kind of issues at your age."

"Hard nipples? I wasn't aware age impacted the capability for that happening. Not like old men getting erections."

"Don't go there," he said, that serious tone in his voice that always made her smile. It only made her want to wind him up more but she bit it back, holding his hand as they climbed the steps up to the bar. "So, what would you like?"

"Something warming, whisky based perhaps." She stared up at the menu, and Charles glanced around for a table, raising his hand as the couple at the opposite side did the same to him. "Your friend is over there."

"My friend?" She turned to see Paul and Sam cuddled together at one of the small tables. She waved hello and Sam beckoned them over. "Seems we're joining them." She tightened her shawl around her arms, "I'll have number fourteen."

"Alright, go sit down. I'll bring them over."

* * *

"I guess there's only so many bars along this strip," Sam said, pouring the last of a second bottle of wine into hers and Paul's glasses.

"This is a good one too," Paul chipped in, "we've ended up here four times this week."

"Did you get in for a meal at the hotel?" Elsie asked.

"isn't it wonderful?" Sam enthused, toppling forward in her chair, she was giddily drunk and Elsie wondered how the flight would go the following afternoon. "The scallops they served were unbelievable."

"Charles had those too."

"They were very nice." He agreed. "It's been a great week, amazing place." He slipped his arm around Elsie's shoulders, kissing the side of her head.

Paul pushed himself up to his feet, "Okay, bathroom break and then another bottle? You want to go in on it?"

Elsie shook her head, "No, not going to be here much longer," she said without thinking, and Sam smiled at her.

Paul wobbled as he began to move and Elsie elbowed Charles, "Go check he's okay," she whispered and he dutifully got to his feet and went after the man.

"You know, it's actually been really nice meeting you," Sam said.

"Oh, why?"

"Because he spoke of you, when we first met. Think you kinda got to him."

"That was a long time ago."

"A very long time, we've been married an eternity."

"You seem strong though, the pair of you."

"We are, us and the kids. It's always been the four of us, a unit, you know. And it's good to have someone you feel you can always rely on, fall back on."

Elsie sipped her drink, bobbing the straw about in the liquid, "He's different, to when I knew him. Which I'm putting down to you."

"Ha, or life, or kids…"

"Or marriage." Elsie said. "You like it, don't you? Being married."

Sam frowned, "Yeah, I guess so. I haven't really thought about it in such direct terms. But yes, it's worked out well." She slumped back in her chair, "The things I've seen him through though," she laughed.

"What we talking about?" Paul said, sinking back into his seat. "Hello my lovely," he repeatedly kissed the side of Sam's head.

"Hello darling. We were talking about the benefits of marriage and the things I've seen you through."

"She's my angel Elsie, my absolute angel."

"I can see that." Elsie glanced to where Charles stood at the bar buying the drinks; _one more and then she wanted to head back to their room, to be alone_.

"Nothing I wouldn't do for this woman," Paul said and Elsie watched as they kissed tenderly. "Best holiday ever."

"First real holiday without the kids," Sam explained.

"You mentioned," Elsie said. "It is a lovely resort."

Charles returned to the table, putting down two more bottles of wine. Elsie glared up at him and he shrugged, pouring her a glass of red.

"Thank you Charlie, you're a sweetheart." Sam said, her voice unstable and giddy. "Hey, what's your thoughts on marriage Charles. The big M?"

He filled his own glass, keeping his eyes from Elsie and instantly deciding that he'd make the most of his last night and let loose, enjoy himself, with a few glasses of wine.

"Well, the way I see it is this; you either love each other or you don't. Marriage or not."

Elsie licked her lips, taking a big gulp of her wine.

* * *

The room seemed to be spinning. A continuous rotating drone of neon lights. Elsie stumbled into the bathroom, turning on the cold water and splashing her face with it. She grimaced as she looked into the mirror, wiping the mascara from beneath her eyes. It had just turned 2a.m. and she was drunk and tired.

Groaning, she dried her hands and headed for the exit. She pushed open the door, only to find Paul staring back at her.

"Oh, hello. You want the bathroom?"

"Hi Elsie," he almost pushed her into the cubicle and she stumbled backwards.

"What's going on?"

"Here's the thing…" Paul said, one hand touching her arm, his fingers tickling over her wrist. "It's a fluke, us meeting here like this. We've not seen each other for years; years and years. And then this, here." His hand closed over her wrist. "We need to make the most of it, I figure."

"You're drunk. I'm drunk."

"I want to have you again, to remember how fucking amazing it was with you. Just once. Here. We'll not see each other again."

She shook his hold off, "How the hell dare you proposition me. I'm here with…"

"He doesn't have to know. Nobody does."

She was suddenly painfully sober. "Get out of my way."

"Elsie…"

"Get out of my way before I scream the fucking resort down!"

* * *

Charles flopped back on the bed, sinking into the softness, his body happily floating.

"Help me," he said, aware of Elsie moving around the room. "Darling, help…"

"One second," she said irritated. "Get yourself undressed."

"I'm flying."

"You shouldn't have drunk so bloody much. You're not used to it."

"Oh gorgeous woman… come here."

"No," she slammed the wardrobe door and his head jerked up.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Only fucking bastard men, each one of them a goddamn waste of oxygen."

"All of us?"

"Yes, all of you. You say one thing, mean another. You lie and you cheat and you pretend it's okay because nobody knows."

"I don't understand –,"

"Forget it," she slammed another wardrobe door, standing there in her underwear. Staring at his hopeless expression she sighed heavily. "Lie down, go to sleep."

His head fell back and he closed his eyes, "Help me."

She bit down on her lip, desperately angry but her heart softened for him; he was drunk, he knew nothing about what had happened and wouldn't understand a word she was saying.

She leant over him, unbuttoning his shirt and slipping it off.

"Love you," he mumbled, already drifting to sleep. "We don't have to be them. Get married. You don't have to marry me, Elsie." He yawned, his mind spinning with alcohol and confusion.

"No, we definitely don't have to be them," she said softly watching as he fell to sleep. "But I wanted to."


	43. Chapter 43

**Chapter 43**

"Oh my baby, baby boy," Elsie fussed, getting down on her knees as Socks climbed up her chest and repeatedly nuzzled her neck and chin. "Are you happy to see mummy, yes?"

The cat meowed and Charles stopped by the kitchen door watching the displays of affection, "It's alright, I managed the cases."

"Sorry, I needed to see him." She laughed as Socks climbed up onto her shoulder and licked her ear. "Ha, Socks, that tickles."

"Well, I'm glad _he_ made you smile."

She lifted Socks into her hands, turning to glare at Charles.

"Sorry but you've not been the easiest person to travel home with. You going to tell me what happened to the mood? Can't just be end of the holiday blues." He stated, the weariness of travel catching up with him.

She shook her head, pushing herself to her feet, still cradling the kitten.

"Look, I didn't tell you because if we'd seen them on the plane it would have been awkward, or worse, an argument."

"Tell me what? Who?"

"Don't get angry."

"Elsie –,"

"Paul. The whole thing pissed me off," she put Socks onto the floor and opened the kitchen doors so he could run into the garden. "I was just… well, here's this couple, this man, telling me how wonderful marriage is, how committed and loyal they are. Best thing they ever did. And then this same fucking man propositions me. Sleep with him…"

"What?"

"A one off. A quickie in the toilets probably if I'd let him."

"I'll break his jaw! Did he touch you?"

"No, well yes, but only my arm, I was quite capable –,"

"I'll kill him!"

"I said I was quite capable," she said more strongly. "And I wasn't hiding it Charles, you were drunk, you passed out almost as soon as we got to the room. And then the next morning, I didn't want it to be awkward if we saw them."

"You said that."

"And now I feel guilty."

He screwed his face up, "What the hell for?"

"I'm not sure," she shrugged, "my fault somehow. And his wife, she seemed nice."

"You should have told her."

"I don't want to hurt her, or be responsible for ending a marriage."

"He did that, not you. Bastard."

"Yes well," she picked the kettle up and started to fill it. "Hence me being in a fucked off mood. And I'm sorry you bore the brunt of that but really, _men_." She saw his face, "Some men. To blatantly lie like that, to not see it as cheating or morally wrong. Because nobody knows and it's just sex so you can pretend it isn't anything real. It reminded me of who I was, when I was young and… stupid. Messing about with that guy in London."

Charles sighed, _would the past never leave them alone?_ He rubbed his forehead, "Christ, my head hurts."

"That's drinking too much and then suffering through a flight."

He rolled his eyes.

"Why did you drink so much?"

He shrugged, "Seemed the sociable thing to do."

"I wanted to be alone with you." She stared at him, noted the grey beneath his eyes and felt a sweep of guilt. "Go to bed."

"No, you wanted to unpack, get the washing on, do the shopping."

"I can do that, you look rubbish."

"Gee thanks," He yelled as Socks climbed up the back of his trousers. "Ow! Bloody hell Socks, you little sod!"

"Don't shout at him like that." Elsie fussed after the cat as it dashed across the kitchen and hid beneath the table. "Apologise to him. Socks, baby, come here."

"He'll be fine, he tore the back of my leg."

"Charles, he's a cat, he missed you. He's excited."

Charles turned on the cold water and splashed his face.

"If you're angry take it out on me, not him."

"I'd like to take it out on the man who really deserves it. I'm sure I could find his address."

"No! You will not." She was still knelt on the floor by the table.

"Surely his wife deserves to know what a snake she's married to."

"It's not our business. And I don't want," she pushed herself to her feet, "I don't want to get into some sort of messy business. It doesn't matter."

"But it does," he sagged back against the counter. "It does because once again a man has let you down."

"Yes. But not you darling." She moved towards him, "I'm sorry it happened, that it coloured the end of our holiday. And I was spitting angry when it happened but I'm okay now, clearer. Take some tablets, go to bed."

"Shopping?"

"I'll do it. Make you some hangover cure for dinner when I get back."

"What's that."

"Something comforting. Mashed Potato. Cottage pie?"

"Sounds wonderful."

"But, only on condition you go to bed!"

He smiled, "Yes boss."

"And take Socks with you; he loves you."

"I know."

"And you have a big voice when you shout."

He smiled, leaning in to kiss her, "I apologise for that."

* * *

She didn't mind shopping alone, there was an element of nostalgia to it now. Since he'd moved in Charles had pretty much taken over the food shopping, he was picky and liked lists and marching around quickly. She liked to take her time. She spent half-an-hour in the coffee shop flicking through a magazine, considering cutting her hair off again as she eyed the models with edgy styles. Then she wandered the aisles, picking up things on offer she'd usually not bother with; little snacks for Charles, a toy for Socks. She was functioning on adrenaline, a need to get jobs done so she could collapse at some point and feel guilt free.

She ate a bag of Cheese and Onion crisps in the car on the way home, a Grab bag at that, then felt guilty about the calories instead. She hid the evidence in her handbag and promised herself the diet would start again on Monday.

The house was still when she got home, enjoyably so, and she closed herself in the kitchen, enjoying the shades of early evening sunlight still hanging around. She filled the fridge, poured herself a glass of Chardonnay, and took her time preparing the filling for the pie.

There was something therapeutic about peeling and chopping the vegetables as the beef simmered on the hob; the kitchen smelt of the old days and slow hearty cooking and she enjoyed the process after a week of luxurious food. Something simple.

When the pie was in the oven she tiptoed upstairs; Charles still slept, on his side facing the door, one hand tucked beneath his chin as he snored. Socks was on his hip, and he looked over languidly as Elsie opened the door, stretching his legs and resettling on Charles' side.

"Little bugger," Elsie whispered, heading into the bathroom for a quick shower.

Ten minutes later she came out in her dressing gown to find her two favourite boys wide awake and cuddling.

"Oh hello, this looks cosy."

"We're having a catch-up chat."

"About?"

He sighed happily, watching as she slipped off her dressing gown and bent to find clean underwear in a drawer.

"How stunning Mummy is."

She glanced over her should at him, "You're in a better mood then?"

"Sleep does wonders," he held his hand out, "come here a minute."

"I need to go check on dinner," she insisted, but went to him anyway, letting him pull her to the bed and cuddle her body to his. "Don't want your pie to burn."

"I'm looking forward to it," he kissed the top of her head. "I'm glad you told me, about Paul."

"I wouldn't have not told you, besides, it was the perfect break, up until that moment."

"I still reckon I could find his address…" she looked up at him, her eyes wide and pure. "You're right, best to let it die and get on with our lives. Which reminds me, I thought I might invite William over for dinner one night, it's not long until his wedding and I'd like to spend some time with them beforehand."

"Alright, let me know when and I'll keep everything clear." She yawned, "If I stay here I'll fall to sleep." She inched herself from his arms, reluctantly getting to her feet. "You going to get dressed?"

"Of course, mustn't let standards slip."

Socks climbed down from Charles' hip, up over Elsie's arm and over her head.

"The boy has no personal space."

"That's kids for you, walk all over you."

* * *

 **June 5** **th**

In youth celebrating birthdays is easy. It's all excitement and fun; the days where candyfloss doesn't make you feel sick and you can eat cake for breakfast with no issues. Charles had probably lost that feeling of excitement around nine years old when he invited a group of friends to a party, they did attend but ignored him most of the time, preferring to eat his cake and play on the bouncy castle his parents had hired.

Since then he'd gone for quiet celebrations and kept things low-key. He recalled the previous year, sitting in the sunshine with his family and friends, watching Elsie splash in the fountain with his mum. A Sunday at the pub and it was glorious.

This year his birthday had fallen on a Monday and they were having a quiet dinner at home with William and Niamh and for that it seemed just as special. How far he'd come in a year, he thought, standing in the kitchen watching Elsie check on the roast. She sliced an end piece off the beef, took off the foil and returned it to the oven.

"Here," she said, turning to him, "best bit."

"Absolutely." He took it from her fingers and happily chewed on the meat. "That's good."

"Frank ordered me a good cut."

"Bless him."

"Mm, no supermarket nonsense for my birthday boy."

Charles sighed, "Fifty-eight, this is it now, old age is breathing down my neck."

"Oh no," she slid her hands over his shoulders, "still young to me, and Alfie. What was it he got you?"

He rolled his eyes, "A bow and arrow so we can play Robin Hood in the garden."

"His newest obsession."

"I thought during the summer holidays I might take him to Sherwood Forest for the day, we could take the train."

"He'd love that. And Ethel too, childcare's expensive." She laughed, "I like how his gift to you is actually beneficial to him."

"Smart kid."

Elsie's eyes widened as the doorbell rang and she wiped her hands on the front of her apron before taking it off. She pursed her lips at him and nodded as he moved towards the door.

She stood back for a second, giving him a moment to welcome his son into their home, his beautiful girlfriend beaming as she followed.

"Hi," Elsie said, taking her hands, "lovely to see you again."

"And you, thank you inviting us."

"We're just glad you could make it, I know how busy things must be at the moment. Come on in, let's open some wine. Red or white?"

"White please," Niamh said, bending to stroke Socks as he rubbed against her leg.

"Oh he's such a little flirt," Elsie smiled, "aren't you?"

The cat cried at her and her voice changed slightly as she spoke to him, "Yes you'll get some dinner soon, won't be long until the beef is done."

"Jack is the same. Needy."

"Your dog?" Charles asked, "Is that right?"

"Yeah, like having a kid already," William took a glass of wine from Elsie.

"It's the way things should be," Elsie smiled. "We thought we'd eat outside, as the evenings are warming."

"Lovely idea," Niamh agreed, and followed Charles out to the garden. "I'll help you set up."

The young woman perched on the edge of the swing seat, swaying gently as she watched Charles carefully set out each piece of cutlery with precision.

"You do that well," she observed.

"Well, it was once part of my job."

"Looks elegant," she glanced around, pushing further back on the swing. "It's nice out here, you keep it well."

"Elsie's the better gardener," he said proudly, "she has more patience. Though my veg is doing well, I must say."

"Be so good to have our own place, have a garden, room for the dog to get out."

"Yes, how is the house hunting going?"

"Mmm, painfully slow."

"You ought to ask her for help, she's good, she wouldn't let you down."

"Who wouldn't?" Elsie asked, carrying a jug of water out for the table. "What are we talking about?"

"House hunting," Niamh explained, getting up to sit at the table. "We've been having a terrible time of it."

"Nightmare," William agreed, "found loads that madam likes, but none that we can afford. Back to the drawing board with the savings."

"Pâté to start," Elsie said, inviting them all to sit as she brought it in.

"Do you er, need money?" Charles asked nervously.

"No, no," William flustered, and he reminded Elsie so of his father for a brief second. "That wasn't what I was hinting at. I would never be so –,"

"Forward, I know. I wasn't asking for that reason…"

"Charles," Elsie said gently, passing his plate across.

"No, I'm not being… You see, there is money," he glanced at Elsie, her hands were folded together, her eyes cast down to her food. "I've had an account, for a long time now, for… well, for you."

There was a gentle peace upon the table, awkwardness pressed aside by the realisation that something good had been intended.

"I don't mean this as any kind of intrusion or anything…"

"…No, no I understand, I just, I'm just surprised I guess. Shocked."

"Well, it's not me being sentimental or trying to win points."

Elsie bit down on her bottom lip – she knew how difficult he found all this, how hard he was trying but goodness sometimes he could be so abrupt.

"Maybe it would be useful," she suggested, "towards a deposit at least."

William sighed, "This'll sound odd, but I'm not sure I deserve it. I haven't done anything for it."

Elsie laughed, "Goodness, you sounded so like Charles then."

Both men blushed and Charles awkwardly pushed his chair back and reached forward to pour himself some water. "It was just a suggestion," he said.

"And I don't mean to sound ungrateful."

"Course you don't, and you don't sound ungrateful in any way." Elsie briefly touched Charles' arm, "But I'm not sure you need to have done anything to deserve it."

"Of course you don't," Charles blustered. "I've put my foot in it."

"No you haven't," Niamh said. "I think it's a lovely thing to have done."

Charles looked from the young woman to his son's face, "I don't mean for it to sound cold. I'm not saying that money in any way replaces…"

"– No, that's not…"

Charles waved his hand, "Just, I couldn't be in your life and I wanted to do something. At least. Let me do this."

Elsie smiled softly, looking to her plate again to avoid making eye contact; he was so wonderful, so kind.

"Alright," William said, "We can at least discuss maybe some of it being useful."

"Good, and we will, it will be."

"So," Elsie said, brightening the tone. "The toast will be cold, let's eat."

* * *

"Here we go," Elsie proclaimed, carrying the birthday cake into the lounge. She slowly knelt, lowering the chocolate butler to the coffee table. "Time to celebrate."

"Wow, that's some cake!" Niamh laughed, tipsy on the free-flowing wine.

"Isn't it great, my friend made it."

Charles sat forward, ruddy cheeks and a broad smile on his face, "Beryl made it? Is it meant to be me?"

"Quite a likeness, don't you think," she teased. "So, do you want us to sing?"

"Do I heck," he leant over the table, closing his eyes and blowing out the candles that were strategically placed on the waiter's tray that he held in the air, balanced on one hand.

Elsie clapped, "Yay, happy birthday darling," she got up and kissed him.

"And it's been another good one." He sat back, directing his comments to the couple on the other couch. "Never celebrated birthdays quite so well as I do now."

"You're blurring your words," Elsie teased. "The coffee should be done, I'll go fetch it to go with the cake. Brandy too?"

"Why not," Charles shrugged, "might as well go all the way."

"Lord, we might never want to leave," William said.

"Wait til you taste this cake," Charles said. "It's outstanding, she's outstanding. Beryl. What kind of wedding cake you having?"

"Tall," William rolled his eyes, "elaborate." He laughed, "I'm joking, it's gorgeous, or will be. It's got all these leaf designs around the bottom. You'll get to taste it. You are still coming?"

"Of course we'll be there, Elsie bought a new dress, she can't waste it."

"How lovely," Niamh said, "that's really sweet of her."

"She likes to dress," he chuckled. "What about your honeymoon, where you off to?"

Elsie carried the coffee in, setting the tray down. "Will you pour sweetheart," she asked, "I'll cut the cake."

"Well, bit of travel," William said. "Flying out to Vegas for a few days, and then we've got a car and taking a road trip, driving around the coast and visiting different places."

"That sounds fun," Elsie handed their plates across before sitting next to Charles. "You like to travel?"

"Love it," Niamh said, "And we figured we best make the most of doing things like this, a: whilst we can afford it and b: before we have kids."

Elsie drew her legs up on the sofa, "Is that in the immediate future?" She caught the look in Niamh's eyes as she quickly glanced at William and knew very well it was. "Babies?"

William rubbed Niamh's leg, "Let's start with one then see how it goes."

Charles put his plate down, swallowing awkwardly; a baby, a grandchild, though perhaps not his.

"It'll be nice to have a baby around again," Elsie said, "my friend lived with us for a while with his little girl –,"

"–And then the girl who works for her and her two kids."

"Hey that was your friend first," she leant against his arm until he drew it around her and kissed the side of her head. "It was nice, having children in the house."

"But it's nice being alone too," he added. "Peace and quiet."

"At least we know you'll be okay changing nappies," Niamh said.

"You'd trust me?" Charles said, genuinely surprised.

"Of course!" Niamh laughed, "The more the merrier, and you'll be like pseudo-grandpa. Or is that the wrong word, is that one negative, I didn't mean that." She laughed again, "I'm drunk."

"Blame Elsie," Charles said, "she's free with the wine."

"I like to think I'm generous," she said. "And that's very sweet, he's a lovely Grandad."

"Oh? Something we don't know?" William teased.

"She means Alfie, he's the son of the girl who works for Elsie. It's complicated."

"He's wonderful with him!" Elsie said, "That boy adores him."

"I can see why," Niamh said, "he's tall and strong, like a giant."

"Or one of those clowns on stilts." Elsie said, twisting her head to look to his face.

"Oh great, just when I was enjoying the flattery. It's my birthday you know."

"And it's been a lovely evening celebrating it," William said, adding gently, "Thanks for inviting us."

"You're more than welcome," Charles felt his chest expand, swelling with unfamiliar feelings. "You've made it very special."

* * *

He was working when he got the call, and he always knew it would be that way. That it'd be something grey that would cause him to drop everything and drive for miles down the M1 on a bright sunny Tuesday.

 _Tuesday's child is full of grace_ , he thought to himself. It should have been a Wednesday – full of woe. He didn't call anyone; his mind hadn't worked that way. Instead he just got in the car and drove, did something practical.

It was a good three hours and he'd had to leave his presentation and hand over to Steven during the break. He felt bad for that, though it couldn't be helped.

Of course the thought was always there, dripping away at the back of his mind like some damned tap he'd meant to get fixed. It was inevitable, given her age and medical situation. Every time he travelled further afield, or took a holiday, it niggled away.

"Margaret Carson," he said to the receptionist, stoic and calm, and it was the first words he'd breathed in almost two-hundred and ten minutes. There was that smell, instant meals and soup and old skin, and the unhurried franticness of hospitals. "I'm her son." He added, as if clarification mattered.

* * *

She was asleep. A frail grey woman in a grey room. He sat by the side of the bed feeling redundant; he'd always been practical, a doer, and sitting idle didn't suit him. More to the point, he knew his mother would scold him for that very thing, sitting around when there's work to be done. He smiled at that.

A consultant arrived to inform him it was a heart attack, that she was weak and further tests needed to be carried out, but it was to be expected at her age, in her condition. 'Monitor' seemed to be the young man's favourite word and Charles found something to focus on – his disapproval for the young man.

He called Elsie from the car park when the sun was behind a cloud and the usual flutter and flurry of hospital life passed all around him.

"Hi darling," she'd said, genuinely happy to hear from him. "How did it all go? Will you be home before bed or am I to sleep alone?"

"Listen," he turned and stared at the orange wall of the 1970s building, the flat-like structure he was used to seeing in cities.

"What?" Elsie said on the other end of the line, "Charles? What? Where are you?"

"At The York."

"Wha… Why? How? The hospital? You were working at the other end of the country."

"Yeah well, now I'm standing in the car park at The York."

"Why?"

"Mum had a heart attack."

"I'll be right there," and he knew she was already dashing out of her office before she'd finished the sentence.

* * *

Elsie felt her hand tremble as she lifted the kettle beneath the tap and filled it, watching the water level with burning eyes and a tight throat. She was tired. Her feet ached and she stood barefoot on the tiled floor pushing her toes into the hardness; hours in heels wasn't forgiving.

She lifted her head, saw her weary expression in the window's reflection, and for a second felt her tired eyes fill with tears. This wasn't how she'd expected the day to end up.

As she put the kettle down and flicked it on Charles wandered in, looking lost and exhausted.

"Go to bed," she said, "I'll bring your tea up."

"I can't rest," he rubbed his face, "I can't even contemplate sleeping. My mind is racing."

She sighed, "I know. But she's okay, still here."

"I thought she was gone…" he gasped, covering his face with his hand. "This afternoon when that machine went and all that buzzing and –,"

"I know." She pulled him into her arms, letting his head fall to her chest as his tears came, doing her best to hold in her own shock and grief at events and remain calm. But then he abruptly pulled back, angrily wiping his face.

"God, I can't do this, I can't. I need to get out, need some air." He was like a caged animal, marching about the kitchen. Back straight and rigid.

"Honey it's almost two in the morning. You need to sleep." She tried to touch his back but he moved away. "Alright, we'll go, where do you want to go?"

His eyes were dark when he looked at her, forlorn, lost. "You don't have to come."

"Of course I do. We'll walk, we'll just go for a walk. Get rid of some of your energy."

"Elsie… you don't…"

"I do," she said firmly, taking his hands. "Where do you want to go?"

* * *

The clarity of the air was almost eerie. Crisp, frozen at the edges, and the sky above so dark it edged into inky blue at the rim of a thousand stars.

They sat in silence in an empty car park, the windows already steaming from the warmth of their breath. It was June and in the fields beyond badgers snuffled, mice raced between young corn and fox cubs sprang about, eager, energetic as they tested their muscles and waited for their mother to bring food, for milk was already a thing of the past. Life went on, year after year.

Elsie breathed deeply, glancing at the clock and stretching her fingers around the steering wheel. It was still odd to drive Charles' car, his legs were so much longer and she could never quite get the seat in the optimum position to feel comfortable. She yawned, staring out into a blurry view and shivering a little; it was early summer yet that meant little in England at almost 3 a.m.

"Sorry," he whispered, and his voice surprised her.

"Nothing to apologise for."

He made the slightest move, "Dragging you out here."

"As I said, nothing."

He let his head fall back, closed his eyes and groaned, "Can't clear my head."

"Tell me." She turned in her seat, the neck of her coat closing tight around her throat as she did. "Share it with me."

"If she dies…" he blinked, twisting his neck to look towards her. "That's it."

She frowned.

"Just me. Last of the Carsons."

"Charles –,"

"It's true. I never gave her a grandchild," he saw her expression, "I know, but not really. He isn't a Carson. The name dies." He stretched his legs, "That sounds ridiculous. Selfish."

"No, I understand."

"I can't breathe," he opened the car door and she watched as he struggled out and unfolded his body, taking a lung full of clean air. When he started to walk away she took the key from the ignition and quickly followed him, fastening the buttons on her coat and struggling over the stile.

"Remember we walked here last June," he said, his voice clouded and she waited until she was close to him, taking his arm and forcing him to walk with her. He looked down at her, "I miss dating."

She smiled, "You do? Not sleeping together every night and only seeing me at the weekend? You wanna go back to that?"

He held her hand tighter, "Not that part of it. Going out together, just for the fun of it."

"We can still do that. We still do."

He shrugged, "Life takes over and its harsh."

"Charles. You only feel that way because of today."

"I do know that."

She sucked in her words, his raw pain at the forefront of her mind as she contemplated her response.

He went on, his words tumbling out without thought or rehearsal. "You always know, logically, that one day your parents will be gone but when it happens… I've looked after her for so many years now, we've only had each other and if she…" he licked his lips, walking aimlessly. "There'll be nobody left."

"You'll still have me."

"I know, but my family you see, she's the last of my family."

"Am I not?" She stopped, feeling a shiver of ice drive through her core, desperation clinging to every organ. She suddenly felt alone, a sensation she wasn't used to experiencing with him, though she'd been there several times before with other men.

"I don't…" he let go out of her hand, turned away for a second, wandered beneath the tree where they'd stood in the rain, kissing her like there was time enough to. "I don't know Elsie. We don't know how long this will last, our love."

"You can't measure love by hours in a day." She sucked in a trembling breath. "Why are you questioning that now?"

"Faced with my own mortality," he admitted. "Standing there today, helpless, you start to think."

"That you'll be alone? We've discussed this before, you won't be alone." She was losing control of her voice, her sensibilities. "Charles, you're frustrating me here. I know you're struggling, I understand that, but bloody hell that isn't fair. We both know what this is, what we've promised each other. It's taken me over a year to get to this point."

"You won't commit." He said forcefully.

She marched over the damp earth, grass curling beneath her boots, grasping his hands in hers. "Don't do this. Don't push me away now. You're not alone, your mother might be fine, she might be… And if… _I'm_ your family, we're family."

His eyes were deserted, blue with aching, troubled with emotions he didn't know how to sort through and filter.

"Charles, I'm completely yours. Absolutely dedicated to this, us, our lives. If you'd only… Out there, on holiday, I thought maybe… and then it all went wrong." She paused, her mind racing. "You're in my blood."

Around them the universe lived on. The earth shifted, clouds filtered through from ink to wisps of nothingness, the sky slid by and a million stars held their spot for seconds longer than a lifetime.

Their hands clasped tightly, fingers cramped from the position.

His heart beat and hers followed and she stepped closer to him.

"Ask me now."

He licked his lips, quivered inside like the whole of his being was nothing more than a combination of dust and light and inside a golden fist beat for her. Endlessly. Endlessly.

"I keep asking myself what life is, what it means. Have done for years."

She smiled kindly, gentle as her eyes filled with tears. "Ask."

"Elsie Hughes, will you marry me?"

She bit her lip, "I thought you'd never ask."

He gasped a shot of laughter through his tears.

"Yes," she said, heart full and certain, "Yes."

Words failed him. Something crawled through the pain he'd lived with all day and flowed out into the blue air surrounding them. There was nothing to do but drown his pain in her embrace.

* * *

"It's happening too quickly," he said seven hours later, driving to the hospital with her by his side.

"What? Getting engaged?" The ring was where it was intended now and felt comfortable.

"All of it. Mother. William's wedding in a couple of weeks. My brain can't cope."

She reached to touch his hand, they'd both trembled since the proposal, both on ice. "It will, it will all be fine. We'll do it together."

He nodded, waiting for a ticket, finding a spot in the car park. They walked hand in hand, Elsie carrying flowers. Normality. Visiting hours. Nobody knew yet his world had changed.

"When do you want to do it?" He asked cautiously.

"I don't know," she smiled, "I hadn't thought."

"Where?"

"One thing at a time," she curled her arm around his. "Visit your mother first, get her well. Then William's wedding. Then we can talk ours."

The mention of _their_ wedding made him thrill. The bitterness of his grief quelled somewhat as he'd held her in the early hours of the morning, watching as the light changed on her skin as she slept in his arms. By rights he should be tired. Exhausted.

Yet there was an uncertain mix of elation and trepidation. He ached and he couldn't turn it off despite her love.

"Mother," he stated, surprised to see her awake and propped up in bed. "How you feeling?"

"Damn sight better than you it seems, who had the heart attack? You look terrible."

He laughed and Elsie smiled as she kissed Margaret's cheek and put the flowers in a vase, "Good to see you awake my dear."

"Elsie," Margaret took hold of her hand. "Something's changed, has he made a woman out of you?" Elsie laughed this time, she was sure she'd been a woman for a long time now but perhaps he'd found the missing piece.

"Mother," Charles sat by her side, taking her free hand in his and kissing the tissue paper skin. "Elsie and I got engaged."

"Bout bloody time," she croaked and Elsie reached for water.

"Well, I told him that too," she said to the old woman, holding the cup to her mouth.

"Best do it before I kick the bucket."

"Mum," Charles protested, holding her hand tighter, "You'll be there, don't say such things."

"This year?" Margaret said, "Get it over with, no point messing around at your age, not like you're planning for kiddies or anything but still, a long engagement would be foolish. At your age."

Charles rolled his eyes at Elsie.

"New year," Elsie said, holding his gaze then shrugging her shoulders. "New year's eve?"

His mouth twitched just slightly and his eyes shone as he gave the slightest of nods.

"Are we going home today?" Margaret asked as the Doctor came in, clipboard in hand.

"Not today mum," Charles got to his feet, "few days of observation I should think."

"That's right Mrs. Carson. But you're doing well."

Elsie sat back; she'd be Mrs. Carson soon enough, Elsie Hughes disappearing into her new role. The chatter continued around her and she half listened, thinking of how her world had changed and continued to do so. Things came and went, as did people, but this was real, watching the man she loved nurse his mother. She felt the need to call her father and tell him; Becky would be ecstatic and suddenly the imagined joy of her sister filled her soul and she thought of buying outfits and choosing a venue and the countless moments she could share with her sister. She'd have one bridesmaid and it'd be simple. She could picture it as she watched her future husband converse with the Doctor; a simple place, a small gathering, an icy night and exchanging vows before it turned midnight.

"Excuse me," she said, getting to her feet, suddenly eager to share her news. "I just need to nip outside and make a phone call."

She found a quiet spot, a bench beneath a tree; the early sunlight dappling through the leaves onto her bare knee as she stared at it, listening to the droll ringing of the phone.

"Hello," her father barked and she smiled at his abruptness.

"Morning Dad, you sound in a good mood."

"Oh hello, I was outside, we had bad rains last night and the bins blew over, rubbish everywhere."

"Oh right," she chewed on her fingernail. "Is Becky there?"

"Gone to her dance class, why, you want to talk to her?"

"No, sorry I forgot." She closed her eyes, reciting the words in her mind – no need to be nervous, ridiculous to be. "So, I er, wanted to say something. I mean, to tell you something."

"Yeah?"

"Yes," she breathed deeply, "goodness this is more awkward than I thought." She heard the scrape of a chair in the background as her father sat.

"Did he ask?"

"Sorry?"

"Charles, did he ask? I figured he'd either chickened out or you said no."

She shook her head, confused, "What are you talking about?"

"I'm assuming he proposed."

"Last night… Did he call you?"

"Few weeks ago, before your holiday. We talk every now and then."

"You do?" She could hear the screech in her voice, "When?"

"When he calls."

"What's he call about?" _How did she not know this?_

"This and that. Fishing. The Land Rover I'm rebuilding."

"Why didn't either of you tell me?"

Her father huffed, "You never asked."

She pouted, feeling cut off, annoyed at them having a connection she knew nothing about. Which was silly really, she should feel happy they get on.

"So," Doug said, "engaged then?"

She let out a hiss of breath, "Yes. We are."

"That's good, about time. Took you two weeks to ring and tell me."

"It happened last night."

"Ha! So he did chicken out on holiday."

"He told you that?"

"We talked about it a bit before you went, like I said."

She got to her feet, pacing, "You two discuss me?"

"I told you, we talk about fishing."

"Hmm…"

"You don't sound happy."

"I'm just surprised is all."

"About the engagement?"

"No. I mean, I'm happy about that, I thought you meant… Never mind."

"You are happy about the engagement?"

"Of course. Very."

"I knew you'd accept eventually."

She rolled her eyes, "Well clearly, you know everything first."

He laughed at that, "Dear Elsie, always wants to be in control."

She closed her eyes, smiling at the tone in his voice. "You will give me away? Though it sounds silly to ask, at my age."

"You know I will," he said more gently. "And I'm glad, happy for you, you found the right man finally."

"Yes. Finally." She paused for a moment, listening to the sound of him breathing. "I'll call back, I'd like to tell Becky."

"You will. Are you celebrating today?"

"Not really, Charles' mother is in the hospital, she had a heart attack."

"The shock of you two old uns getting hitched?"

"Dad! That's an awful thing to say." She exclaimed at his twisted humour. "Charles was frantic but she seems to be doing better now, will hopefully be home in a couple of days."

"Nobody wants to keep you in nowadays."

"She'll be better in the home, her own bed."

"People always are…" She heard the chair creak again, the kettle being filled. "She'll be okay, I'm sure."

"Let's hope so. I suppose I better get back, he'll wonder where I went."

"Give him my best, both of them."

"Will do. I still can't believe you and he…" she shook her head again. "You can still surprise me."

"Be a boring life really, if you knew everything."

"Ha, Charles talks like that. He says the business of life is the acquisition of memories. In the end that's all there is."

"Smart man." The kettle boiled in the background. "The right choice." He added, assuring himself as much as he was her.

She took a moment after the call had ended. Wandered along the path a little more, a quiet space that had been created for private reflection, she presumed. A green space outside of the hospital. She felt a little like she wasn't really present; Charles was right, things had happened quickly and her mind was still catching up. Her body felt detached from reality, her heart elsewhere. That didn't mean she wasn't happy, that she didn't think saying yes was the right thing for both of them. It just wasn't how she expected it, amidst the trauma of his mother, the emotion of his son's marriage.

She turned the previous evening over in her mind; the cool air, clear sky. A clarity so bright she felt things were transparent. Her heart was still there.

* * *

"Did you really mean that?" Charles asked later, as they sat in the busy canteen eating sandwiches. "About new year?"

"It would seem fitting, don't you think?"

She had that look in her eye that made him feel safe and unhinged all at once.

"Start a new year as husband and wife," she added, taking a sip of tea. "Kinda romantic."

"Very romantic. Not sure we'll get a church this late though, or a venue."

"I was thinking something small, somewhere we can decorate how we want, our own flowers and lights and things. Not one of these corporate places with the same chairs and ribbons."

He sucked on his tongue, "Well, we can discuss it more later, when this is all done with and she's home."

"She seemed alert, all things considering."

"Very much so."

Elsie touched his hand, "And you feel a little better?"

"I do." He smiled, "I can't believe we're finally engaged. I want to tell people."

"I rang my father," she admitted, biting her bottom lip.

"How did that go?" He found himself grinning, feeling young and energetic despite his fatigue and the building they sat in.

She frowned, "Well apparently he already knew you were going to propose."

"Oh, yeah… that." He sipped his tea. "Well, it was only right and proper I asked him first."

"Yes, okay." She folded her hands on the table, shrugging. "But how come you never told me you talk?"

"I was going to. It was a random thing at first, I called him to ask about something and it ended up being a nice chat and so I rang him again a week or so later." He stretched his long legs beside hers. "Unexpectedly we found we got on, passed the time of day for fifteen minutes every now and then."

"And you couldn't tell me?"

"It just seemed odd suddenly, after months of it. To say 'oh yeah, your father and I have been having illicit phone calls'."

She laughed at that, reaching to touch the back of his hand. "I don't mind really, it's nice, that you get on."

"Is he pleased?"

"Of course, let's face it, he knew before either of us that it's the way things would go, if only I'd let it. Stop fighting."

He turned his hand over on the table, his palm pressing against hers. "I'm happy," he parted his fingers and hers fell between them, wrapping around his. "Feeling goofily happy, despite being here and the worry."

"Me too."

"Though I feel like we haven't celebrated the fact."

"We can celebrate tonight; would you like to go out for dinner or…"

"No," he said quickly, smiling, "No, just you and I. At home. Possibly Socks."

"More than likely. You think he'll be confused mummy and daddy had him then married after the fact?"

"He's a well-adjusted kid."

"I guess. He might carry the rings on the day."

"Don't push it."

She chuckled and his smile was glorious.

"I do love you."

"I know."

"And I'm sorry I made those comments last night, about family."

"I know that too, and I understand why. Though you are my family."

He nodded, "And you mine, almost immediately. Can I ask… you knew, right, on holiday, the boat?"

"I sort of figured it out too late, then I felt bad. I thought you might ask again whilst we were there."

"And you would have said yes? I mean, even without mother's heart attack?"

"Yes Charles, I would have said yes. It has nothing to do with your mother being ill."

He breathed deeply, he just needed to check. "What changed your mind?"

"Just time. And life. I wasn't afraid of it anymore, I'm not. Nervous perhaps because I've never done it before and I don't like to make mistakes."

"We won't." He squeezed her hand again, "It'll be blissful harmony, never a cross word."

"Ha bloody ha." She pushed her sandwich wrapper away. "Shall we have another hour with her then head off then?"

"Yeah," he ran a hand through his hair. "We need to drive by her place, pick up a few things and there's something I want to get."

"Oh?"

"Something for William."

"For his wedding?"

"Perhaps." He nodded, distracted, "perhaps."

* * *

 **Mid-June**

William's wedding day. His son's wedding day. The night before he's restless. They'd travelled that morning, had stopped for lunch on the way. He'd arranged to meet William in the afternoon for a quick coffee, and Elsie had entertained herself walking the town whilst they met. It was good of the boy really, given the fact it was less than twenty-four hours until he wed.

"You're okay?" Charles asked, a sense of protectiveness present. "You don't need anything, any help?"

"No, no, all's sorted, seems smooth enough. To be honest we've paid this place enough money they better get it right."

Charles nodded, suddenly, awkwardly, offering, "Do you need more money?"

William shook his head, "No, that's not what I meant –,"

"Sorry, sorry. Didn't mean to…" Charles ruffled his hair.

"No, it's kind to ask. I don't want you to think that's what I'm implying."

"I would never think that."

William gave him a shaky smile, "You're okay? You said on the phone your mother had been ill?"

"Oh, she's doing well enough, back in her own flat, in the home, you know."

"Yeah. Good. That's good to hear." He pulled the cafetiere towards him, filling his mug. "We should've gone to the pub. Pint would've gone down better."

"You're nervous?"

"A little," he drops two lumps of sugar into his coffee and stirs. "Keep thinking I'll forget my vows."

"You won't. I'm sure. You're smart." Charles sipped his coffee, "Your mother's okay?"

William looked up quickly, "Why?"

"I just mean, in terms of the wedding, nothing else."

"Yes, frantic of course, eager to impress Niamh's family. You know how she is."

Charles nodded, he did, he could imagine. "And your er, your father?"

William nodded, "Go with the flow, you know Dad." He frowned, "This is a bit awkward."

"I know, and I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked for your time on a day like this."

"No, it's good to see you and tomorrow will be…"

"Awkward?" Charles suggested and they both smiled. "I don't expect your time tomorrow, to be treated any differently to any other family friend. I do understand. But I just…" He took a small box from his jacket pocket. "I wanted to give you something."

"Oh?"

"It might seem odd or too much but just, bear with me, okay." He opened the box, "My father's cufflinks, I want you to have them. You don't have to wear them tomorrow," he said quickly, "that's not what I mean. I just mean for you to have them."

"Shouldn't you? I mean, they're your Dad's, shouldn't you wear them for your wedding or something?"

"I have others. I want you to have something of his, despite never meeting. Please. It's important to me."

William nodded slowly, "Of course. And thank you, they look expensive."

"My father had an eye for quality, a taste for it. There's er, another thing."

"Go on."

"I was wondering if you mind if I show my mother pictures from the wedding."

William smiled, "Course not. Maybe I'll meet her one day."

Charles felt his chest lighten, "That would be kind of you."

The jangle of the door caused them both to glance towards it, and Elsie's arrival was timed to perfection, her smile lightening the mood as she kissed Charles and took a seat at the table.

"Really nice to see you again William."

"And you, can I see the ring?"

She held her hand across, a new feeling, something like pride in her chest.

"And do you have a date?"

"Possibly," Elsie said, shyly glancing towards Charles. "We haven't settled anything yet, just made suggestions."

"It's been an odd couple of weeks really," Charles said, signalling to the waitress to order for Elsie. "Fast moving."

"Well, I hope you get to relax this weekend."

"Me too," Elsie briefly pressed her hand over Charles'. "He's done nothing but worry and that makes me worry. Are you set for tomorrow?"

"Pretty much," William nodded. "Just getting through my tasks, trying to keep calm and focussed. Ticking things off my list," He patted his jacket pocket where the literal list was kept safe.

"So organised. So like your…" she paused, chewing her lip. "Well… you know what I mean."

William smiled, looking to the clock. "I've got to go in a minute, this was my excuse, barbers at four. Who knew lying would come so easy."

"Only a small lie," Elsie assured him. "Good luck, I can't wait to see you in your suit, and the venue looks beautiful, we took a look online."

"Elsie," Charles fussed, embarrassed. "Let him get going."

"Thanks," William said, "it was the first place we looked at and loved it. And thanks for driving up here."

"Of course we would," Charles said. "I wouldn't want to miss it."

"You're staying at the hotel?"

"No, we booked a place a short walk away. We didn't want to get in the way of things."

"You couldn't… but I appreciate it." William got to his feet, holding his hand out to Charles. "Well, thank you for the gift and for, for coming I suppose. I'll see you around tomorrow. Hopefully."

"Yes," Charles held his son's hand tightly for a few seconds, looking up into the young man's face and searching for signs of himself.

"Good luck," Elsie said, getting to her feet and hugging him as the two men separated. "We wish you both the best."

"Thanks. Have a good time won't you, even if we don't get to talk much."

"We will," she said, resitting herself and sliding her hand to Charles' leg beneath the table.

They watched him go and she felt Charles' body sag as the door closed.

"He was being polite, covering himself ready for the distance tomorrow."

"Perhaps. But it must be odd, and he wouldn't hurt you on purpose."

"No. Do you want to do something, after tea?" He suggested quickly, eager to shift the topic on.

"Let's wander the town, there's some great shops here."

"Alright," he was resigned.

"We can have dinner in the hotel later, an early night, get ready for tomorrow." She squeezed his knee. "You're okay?"

"Course, yes."

"Did you speak with your mother?"

"I'll ring her when we leave here, she'll be awake likely then, getting ready for something to eat."

Elsie nodded, "It'll be fine, you'll see."

But he didn't feel fine. Nothing about it seemed fine.

* * *

Elsie woke abruptly, tugged from a deep sleep and feeling aggravated and heavy headed. She glanced to the clock on the bedside table and turned over toward the disturbance, the bathroom light was on and the fan whirred annoyingly.

"Charles…" she complained and the light went off. She listened to him rinse his hands and then his footsteps as he tried to creep back to bed.

"What are you doing?" She asked when he didn't climb in next to her, craning her neck again.

"Just looking outside, checking the weather."

"It gave it fine, overcast in the morning perhaps." She mumbled into her pillow, "Get in bed. You'll be a wreck."

He did as she asked, laying on his back and staring at the ceiling, "Can't settle."

"I've noticed." She huffed, flopping onto her back next to him. "Just the strange bed or something else."

He thought on it, "The bed."

"Liar."

He reached to touch her hand, "Go back to sleep."

"You keep fidgeting," she yawned, twisting over onto her other side to face him. She slipped her head to his chest, one arm tight around his torso. "Don't feel so nervous."

He listened to the sound of her breathing, the even rhythm of the room, the two of them in sync.

"I don't think I should go."

"What? Why? Of course you should." She kissed his bare chest. "Of course you should."

"I don't belong there. I don't want to cause a fuss."

"You're a very old family friend, it would be odd if you weren't. Other connections aside."

"I just think it would be easier…"

"Nobody's saying it's going to be easy," she interrupted. "But if you don't go you'll regret it and I'll be angry with you."

"Elsie…"

"Charles," she turned over again, lying on his chest, looking up to him. "Don't be silly. You deserve to watch your son get married. Even if we only stay for the ceremony and lunch. You need to be there."

"I'm nothing of importance to him."

"Stop sulking, you're very important to him." She reached to touch his face, "It isn't like you to be maudlin," and squeezed his chin. "So stop it, and go to sleep. Unless you want me to get forceful with you."

He smiled in the darkness, "Where would I be without you?"

"In your flat, watching Midsummer Murders."

"Sounds blissful."

She pinched his nipple, laying her head back down. "Go to sleep."

"Yes. My dear _gentle_ fiancée."

* * *

He almost cried in church. Which was so very unlike him. And he muddled over that as he listened to the couple at the front recite their vows. He wondered, questioned, whether he'd always been the type of man who got emotional; certainly, in years past he wouldn't have said so. He was likely to blame it on the woman sitting so beautifully beside him – it was her fault he got emotional now, her fault he felt things like he did. But maybe that wasn't the case. True, Elsie had brought out a side of him that was softer, gentler, but he remembered quite vividly crying when he first realised William was his, and he could still taste the lump in his throat as he'd stood rigid at his father's funeral, and there was the cutting bitterness of that first heartbreak, of losing Alice, his first love. Betrayal was a hard pill to swallow.

Around him the congregation stood and so he did the same, turning the page in the order of service and finding the hymn as the first line was sang. He simply listened for a moment, and then looked down, shocked to feel Elsie's hand sliding over his. He looked to her face and she smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corner as she squeezed his fingers; she gazed down to where her hand clasped over his and there was reverence in her eyes.

He wondered if she felt the same as he did right now. Wondered if she thought of the two of them and what these vows meant, what they would mean, when they finally made them to each other. Their commitment was already in place, but to have it official, that meant so very much to him.

He turned over his hand, closed his fingers around hers, and opened his mouth to sing.

* * *

There was a lull after lunch, when children ran around the hotel lawns in the early light of summer. Male voices were louder, giddier, jovial as they made the most of the bar, and women fussed over the tiniest of details; a message heart, a photograph tree.

It was the time the crowds from the dining room spread, seeking fresh air, those quiet few hours before the evening party and a barbecue on the patio.

Elsie had come out of the bathroom to find the table where they had sat empty. Frowning, she made her way through the open doors and into the sunshine, glancing about the patio area, where family members and friends mingled and chatted freely. She was careful down the stone steps, aware of her heels, her long silk coat flapping in the breeze.

There were tables on the lawn, giant versions of classic games for children and adults alike. She could see Niamh dancing with her father, though there was no music playing, and she smiled at the sentiment.

By the river that ran through the grounds she spotted Charles, head bent, the sunlight clouding his face, and Alice talking to him. A quick stab of something like jealousy hit and then was gone, and she braved the lawn in unsuitable shoes and headed down toward them.

He didn't look guilty when she got close, more relieved she was there, and his body instinctively moved closer to hers. She slid her arm around his, and smiled at Alice, pleasantries all round.

"You look lovely Elsie," Alice said, "wonderful outfit."

"Thank you, I got it for a friend's wedding – thought I might as well get the use of it." She remembered herself, "And you too, of course, mother of the bride."

"And a proud one at that, I was just saying so to Charles."

"Were you?"

Alice twisted her mouth, something like a smirk, "No need to be defensive Elsie, this is a happy day and I'm not here to cause any upset. Not on a day like this."

Charles opened his mouth, licking his lips, "It was wonderful to see it." He said, "Thank you for letting me, us, attend."

"I would be wrong if you hadn't been here, he wouldn't want that." She wrung her hands together, "I know it isn't easy, Charles…"

He shrugged, "I am content to be in the shadows, I've made peace with that."

Alice nodded.

"Just as long as he knows, and we go on this way, maybe just," he shrugged, "just getting to know each other. It's enough."

Alice seemed to feel a chill, and she curled her arms around herself, "What if one day it isn't?"

"Well… nobody knows how things will unfold."

She seemed to feel something as she stared at him, her eyes glassy and then she looked at Elsie and the momentary emotion was gone as she found her smile.

"Congratulations on your engagement, by the way, William told me. I'm happy for you, both of you."

"Thank you," Elsie said, "it's about time he asked to be honest."

Charles laughed at that, looking down the river as Alice walked away.

"You okay?" She asked.

"A-ha," he turned his body. "Where do you think this leads then?"

"No idea, you know we're both rubbish with maps so might as well not bother." She caught onto his meaning, "You don't want to stay?"

"I think we've done our bit, besides I like a nap after a heavy lunch, as you very well know."

She chuckled, "I do," and took his hand. "You really are okay?"

"I am, she didn't say anything offensive, just that she'd heard we were engaged and she was pleased, that was all. Nothing secretive, Elsie."

"I never thought otherwise. Don't you want to say bye to William?"

"He's busy, I'll send him a message or something tomorrow."

"I'm sure he'd like to speak with you."

"I don't want to make a scene," he turned to look up the grassy bank back towards the hotel, shielding his eyes from the high sun. William was at one of the tables, Niamh stood behind him, her hands on his shoulders as they laughed together. "He's happy."

"He is. I think he made the right choice."

"Mmm, me too." He set off walking, in rhythm with Elsie. "I didn't make a bad choice myself."

"Perhaps not, but if this walk is more than a mile I might regret mine."

"Cheeky, you know when you're Mrs. Carson –,"

"Oh, I'm going to be 'Mrs. Carson' am I?"

"You better bloody well be, the ring is on the finger now."

"Okay," she smiled. "And so, when I'm Mrs. Carson, what? I've got to follow rules?"

"That'd work as well as it has trying to teach Socks rules."

"He takes after his mother."

"He's certainly got her sass. Do you not see yourself doing it then, changing your name?"

"I do," she hesitated. "I suppose I hadn't really thought of it, it'll be odd, not being a Hughes."

"You still will be."

"Maybe I can go double-barrel, Hughes-Carson, like a law firm."

"Maybe," he sighed. "I like this, walking by the water."

"Anytime we get to be outside is good for you, it's good we walk."

"You mean it's good that I still can."

"I didn't say that," she stopped, bending to rub her heel. "New shoes and a walk don't mix." She slipped her heels off, "I should be okay if I stay on the grass."

"We could go back."

"We've started now, no getting off the ride."

"And what a ride it's been."

She laughed, "This could get dirty. You were glad you came today, after last night?"

"Very. You were right as always, I needed to watch my son get married. And I'm glad I have."

"Good, they looked beautiful."

"They did, was big though wasn't it, all this."

"Not what you want for us?"

"I don't know, I hadn't dared to dream."

"Oh, you have," she whacked his arm. "You want to marry in church?"

"We really should, it'd be the right thing to do."

"Heaven forbid we don't do the right thing."

"Are we going to disagree over this?"

"Many times, that's the fun of planning it. Least we don't need to worry how we'll get on living together. I already know you snore."

"How far do you think the hotel is?"

"Our hotel, why? You're changing the subject."

"Well, first, I need to pee."

"Okay…" she smirked.

"And second," he stopped, turning to face her, "I have an overwhelming urge to spend the afternoon making love to my fiancée whom I love very much."

"Despite my obstinate nature?"

"Maybe because of it," he kissed her forehead. "Love you, future Mrs. HC."

"Oh I like that, full initials, E.M.H.C. I just need to get a doctorate and I can get myself a plate made for my office door."

He held her tighter, "Shut up."

She smiled, her eyes glinting, blue in the sunlight. "Love you too. Future Mr. C"

* * *

The hollowness crept into the room. Sucking the air from the inside out.

She didn't know anything of it, blessed thanks. It was as silent as the beating of the earth; a crack in its lining, unheard, unnoticed. A woman sleeps in a bed, alone, as fragile and uncertain about life as she was when she came into the world.

Her eyes fidget behind tightly drawn eyelids. There is a whisper of summer in the warm air, a fragrance of strawberries that reminds her of youth. Her skin, supple then, her husband strong and sure, a son long limbed and running the length of the beach. Of this she dreams as the blackness hides behind the wardrobe and allows her ten more minutes.

Seconds tick by, a century somewhere else. Miles away her son makes love to the woman who saved him, who will be his bride; and elsewhere his son makes love to his new wife. There will be children she will never meet, who will never know her name. Her mark on the earth was small but perhaps significant to one, maybe two.

There wasn't a wasted day for well over sixty years and for that there is thanks.

The last breath. A cord tightens. And then there's the exhale, the aftermath as life slips away; to where he would wonder later, sour at the timing and the missed opportunities.

She is gone.

Freedom for her soul.


	44. Chapter 44

_For those still reading, an update._

 _Dedicated to my Grandma Pearl who died 26_ _th_ _December 2017._

* * *

 **Chapter 44**

Death.

It comes swiftly really, there can be months of suffering or none at all. But that moment, when life passes over from existing into not existing, that is as quick as the blink of an eye.

It's odd to consider how somebody can be living and breathing, talking, complaining, laughing. And then they're gone. And what's left behind are the practical things – like clearing out their fridge or deciding what to do with towels and unworn clothes.

Charles had enveloped himself in this to begin with and Elsie had let him. Anything practical, any task he had to do. It had been different when his father had died, his mother had been next of kin and dealt with the details. He had simply supported. This time he was the one to be given the death certificate. The one to read the pack the hospital provided – how to deal with her estate, arranging the funeral, dealing with grief.

There was no house to clear, a kind of blessing he supposed, but then there was the sadness of standing there in the small space she had lived in and facing the realisation that an eighty-odd year life could be reduced to a series of boxes and black bin liners.

Elsie had helped with that. He'd said to bag the clothes, she'd done it. She'd disposed of the ones with no use, driven the ones that could be saved to a nearby charity shop. The same with the small collection of figurines Margaret had, a scattering of books.

Anything personal he'd piled into plastic boxes and taken it back to their house, leaving them in the bedroom his mother had slept in when she'd visited. Boxed up he didn't have to deal with them.

He signed a hundred pieces of paper. Made a thousand phone calls and every day plodded forward – second by second.

Death may come but life doesn't stop.

* * *

 _The music swings through the kitchen, low deep notes gliding over a frothy full band number. It makes him want to tap his feet, though he's never been much of a dancer, or cared much for music come to that. It coincides with the fragrance of cherry scones, fresh from the oven, and it is this more than anything that compels him to get up from his bed and head downstairs._

 _A tray of fat scones is sat cooling on the kitchen table and his fingers itch to break one open, he imagines the steam escaping from the middle, butter pooling as it melts. And tea, a large pot of tea._

 _The music is loud this morning so he knows his father must be out, which isn't completely unexpected for a Sunday morning but a little out of the ordinary. As he's aged he's cut back somewhat on weekend work, delegating to others, Charles suspects it's to do with the crippling cramps he gets in his hands but he knows little, nobody explicitly tells him anything._

" _Mum," he says, voice strained and she turns with a swish of the hips, her apron flying up._

 _There's a smile on her face, a twinkle in her eyes he is not used to seeing, and flour on her left cheek._

 _She points a finger towards the table, "For church," she states, catching hold of his hand and pulling tight on him._

 _He feels forced to dance, and it's unnatural for him, but forced isn't quite the right word, he wants to dance because he wants to enjoy this moment with her whilst it lasts. Though he's unsure why he feels it won't last. He feels torn. Unnatural._

 _He spins her round, somehow knowing how to, and they spend the rest of the song this way. Dancing in the kitchen._

 _After she flips the kettle on and empties the teapot to make a fresh one, he stands awkwardly by the sink, rolling up his sleeves to help clean the dishes left from baking._

" _Time is getting on," she says, and when he turns her apron is off and hanging from the back of a chair, and she is slipping on her coat._

 _He feels a sense of loss. "Don't go."_

" _Here," she takes a scone from the plate and hands it to him, "breakfast." Her fingertips momentarily touch the back of his hand._

* * *

He's disorientated when he wakes. Mouth open and dry, his forehead tapping against the glass. He jerks upright in his seat then regrets it as his neck jolts.

"Charles, you okay?"

"Slept funny." He rubbed at his mouth, searching in the glovebox for a tissue.

"You've been out a while."

"Good job you offered to drive," he stretched his neck again, "Could do with a drink."

"We're almost there; we're meeting them for lunch right?"

"Yeah. Long drive for a pub lunch, sorry."

"Don't be. He's your son, you want to see him, nothing wrong with that." She stretched her fingers against the steering wheel, "I bet they're still brown from their trip."

"Mm, he said it'd been good."

"Amazing I bet." She bit her lip as she indicated to take the exit, glad they were almost there and she could escape the stillness of the car.

In the days following the funeral his only smile came when Alfie was around. She would watch them in the garden, chatting, playing, and wonder why she couldn't reach him in the same way.

He had been quiet since the funeral, almost silent, drifting around the house like a robot, functioning not living. She understood grief, she'd been there herself, and she would never attempt to push him through it or question his behaviour. She just wished he would talk to her, open up a little more.

It had been thirteen days, only thirteen days, since they'd buried her and yet it seemed an eternity of silence in their home.

* * *

"I'm sorry," William said, matching Charles stride-for-stride as they walked. "Not just for your loss, but for the fact I never got to meet her. A part of me had accepted it, come around to the idea… that sounds wrong, what I mean…"

"I know what you mean," Charles said.

"Being part of your life," he continued, "meeting your mother would be part of that."

"Yes. I suppose it would."

They both breathed, walking, taking in the view. Behind them Elsie and Niamh kept a distance, talking quietly.

"How is he?" Niamh asked.

"Quiet," Elsie sighed, "it's still raw. It's one thing to expect a death at some point in the near future, in reality no different to somebody suddenly being gone." She shrugged, hunching her handbag on her shoulder. "He's trying to be Charles, stoic and calm."

"And that's not helping?"

"I think he probably needs a good cry," she suddenly felt guilty for revealing that information. Charles would be annoyed if he knew, and her stomach tightened; she would never betray his secrets, or threaten their intimacy. She chewed down on her lip, "Tell me about the honeymoon," she finally said to lighten the subject.

Charles leant forward onto the railing, the breeze in his eyes, "How's it feeling being a married man then?"

William smiled, resting his arms on the railing as he bent to imitate Charles' stance, "Pretty wonderful as it happens."

There was a slight smile at that, "Different then?" He queried, raising an eyebrow.

"Perhaps. It's the reality of the thing, the promise and…" he shrugged, at himself and his giddy feelings as much as at Charles. "It's serious now, real, true."

"It wasn't before?"

"It was but it feels different somehow; not sure I'm doing a good job of explaining it."

Charles turned his head to look at his son, "You are. And I appreciate it." He looked further over his shoulder to where Elsie and Niamh were laughing together and thought how beautiful she looked, his fiancée, with her hair tousled in the breeze.

"I do wish you'd met her. That's a useless thing now, but it would have completed things in some way."

"Would you have told her who I was?"

"I doubt it." He breathed deeply, "I do wonder if she'd have guessed, if there's anything of me in you, or even my father, that she might have picked up on."

William thought on that; he sometimes wondered the same himself, if there was anything of Charles in him. Perhaps sometimes, when he caught sight of himself in the mirror, a certain angle, or his stature, his attention to detail.

"Gorgeous day," Niamh said as they got closer, her arm easily slipping through William's as she kissed his cheek. "You two were having a good chat."

"Perfect summer day." William replied, gazing down at her. "Shall we go eat? What time we book for?"

"1:30, just in case traffic was bad."

"Can we walk there?" Elsie asked.

"Yeah, it isn't far."

Niamh and William set off and Elsie took Charles' hand, "Okay?"

"Yeah, sure."

She squeezed his fingers as they walked, reminding him she was there.

* * *

There was nothing like a Sunday roast. The bustle of the pub, children running around in the small playground in the heat of the midday sun. The smell of roast chicken, gravy, stuffing and a chilled white wine to wash it down.

Things were easier after good food. Charles' jacket was gone, shirt sleeves rolled up and he poured himself another glass as the others pondered which dessert to order.

"We didn't get to speak much to your parents, Niamh," Elsie said. "Perhaps at some other event."

"That'd be nice. They're a bit older than Will's mum… I think they thought I'd never find anyone, and then when I turned up with him."

"I bet they couldn't believe their luck, bright good looking young man."

"This is making me blush," William laughed.

"May I ask you something Charles, if it isn't too early or… I don't want to rake things up." Niamh said, her eyes fixed kindly on his face. "What your mother was like?"

"I don't mind you asking at all." He said, toying with the stem of his wine glass. "My mother… well, she knew everything before I even thought it." He said with a half-smile, "Had no real formal education, left school as soon as it was legally possible and went straight into work."

"What did she do?" William asked.

"Loads of things, I don't think she ever had a career path."

"Not many did then," Elsie said, leaning closer to Charles' arm. "My mother certainly didn't, nothing beyond marry a farmer and raise a family. It's very different now, you're raised to think of career."

"And perhaps marriage and family second," Charles added softly, "I wonder if we'll find a healthy middle ground." He looked at the couple across from him, the young man who suddenly had so many of Charles' new hopes and dreams wrapped up in him. "I hope you do."

"I hope so too," William agreed.

"She cleaned in the early years," Charles finally said after the waiter had taken their order and the table cleared. "From one place to another, which is pretty much how she met my father. And then things I guess just bumbled along."

"As things do," Elsie said, briefly touching Charles' hand on the table.

"She was always working though, never still. Always helping out somewhere when I was a boy; setting up stalls or cleaning or baking," he briefly remembered his dream and his stomach filled with loss. "I was always trailing around after her. You know. Helping out during the school holidays."

"I've seen the pictures, his gangly legs and little grey shorts."

"Wonderful," Niamh said, "I love to see little lads like that on their way to school."

"Alfie still wears them for school," Charles said, his voice growing a little more animated as he thought of the little boy. "Surprised me, that they still have them."

"This kid sounds special."

"He's stolen both of our hearts." Elsie said. "I think he's staying next weekend, isn't he?"

"Yeah, I need to tell him we're getting married, not seen him since we… well, since it all happened."

"He'll be overjoyed, he can finally legitimately call me Mrs. C."

"That he will like," Charles said, sitting back as their desserts arrived and steamed treacle pudding and custard was placed in front of him. "Now this makes a Sunday," he stated.

"Have you got anywhere yet, thought of any dates?" Niamh asked Elsie.

"Not really, I suppose at some point we should have some sort of engagement shindig. We had this ridiculous idea of getting married on New Year's Eve."

"Why ridiculous?"

"Well, it's such short notice, we'll never manage to pull anything together for that. Churches have bookings years in advance, as you two will know."

"You want it in church?"

Charles blew on his pudding, and the steam curled about his eyes. "Preferably," he said. "I suppose we'll just have to wait." There was a sort of resigned longing to his tone.

"Perhaps you could get a cancellation at some point," William suggested.

"We could, I guess." Elsie said, "That'd be the best solution."

"Hmm, but I really rather liked the idea of New Year." He put his spoon down, pushing his bowl away. "It means something to us. Something important."

She smiled at that, touched once again by this stoic man's soft centre.

"We'll certainly aim for that. Just wait for Alfie discussing being best man with you."

"You don't think he'll still want that? Surely he won't have remembered."

She narrowed her eyes, "We'll see."

* * *

" _Look, mummy!" The tiny boy yelled, running into the lounge and holding his arms aloft. "I'm a butwer."_

" _You're a what?"_

" _A but-wer, like Daddy. See."_

" _Ah, a butler. Well, you're certainly getting tall enough Charlie boy."_

 _He spun round, showing off his tails, "Daddy got me this, so I help at the summer garden partwee."_

" _That's wonderful darling. What will your job be?"_

 _Charles thought about it, dragging the footstool in front of the lounge mirror so he could climb up and admire himself. "I shall serve, and help Papa."_

 _Margaret smiled, "You will be a great help to him, I'm sure."_

" _And Grandpa, he's taughted me how to stand," he held out his arm as if balancing a tray. "He says I has to keep my muscles tight, like this."_

" _Well, he would know. Charlie?"_

" _Yes mummy."_

" _Are you sure you want to be a butler?"_

 _Her five-year-old son looked at her very seriously, twisting the top half of his body to look at her._

" _What else is there to be mummy?"_

* * *

 **August**

Charles' jerked in his chair, awoken suddenly by the cries of the young man racing around the garden. He wiped at his forehead with the back of his sleeve and reached for the glass of water on the table. It was hot out, the height of summer and Alfie was finishing off an ice-lolly and Socks was following him about the lawn, the pair of them chasing flies and watching bumble bees settle briefly on flowers.

"So, when do go get our posh suits, Mr. C?" Alfie asked as he raced down the garden with his croquet mallet raised.

"Careful laddo, you could take an eye out." Charles warned. "Back up here anyway, trying to cheat."

"Am not," he grinned, skipping back up the garden and dragging the mallet behind him. "You fell asleep."

Charles frowned, "I simply closed my eyes."

Alfie giggled, "Grandad says that too."

"What do we need posh suits for anyhow?" Charles asked as he got up from his chair, found his mallet and bent forward to take his shot.

"Getting measured up for being the greatest man of course."

Charles frowned, watching as the young man knelt on the grass to eye up his shot. He swung the mallet towards his red ball and suddenly it clicked: the greatest man… the _best_ man.

"You're going to be my best man then, are you?"

"Of course," he glanced over his shoulder. "I'm surprised you haven't asked by now to be honest."

Charles chuckled to himself, moving back to the table to pour two glasses of water.

"You want a drink, Alfie?"

He dropped his mallet and took a seat at the table, squirting juice into his water with the tiny bottle he'd forced Charles to buy during their last supermarket visit.

"That looks faintly disgusting."

"It's cool, you can take it anywhere. You want me to squirt some in yours?"

"I'm alright with water thanks." He took a drink, watching the boy engrossed by the swirling juice moving down his glass. "There's probably things we need to discuss," Charles said and Alfie looked up sharply.

He folded his arms dramatically, sitting up in the chair. "Will you be having babies?"

Charles spluttered on his water, "Sorry?!"

"We learned it at school. When a boy and a girl make husband and wife they can then have the same bedroom and then they are a mummy and a daddy."

"There's rather more to it than that."

"Like what?" Alfie moved to kneel on his chair, elbows resting on the table as he listened.

Charles stared into the young boy's large wide eyes. "Maybe ask your mother."

He shrugged, annoyed at Charles' dismissive tone. "Sam told us in the playground anyway."

"Oh? And what did he tell you...?"

"About misters and them... _girls._.." he whispered. "We're not the same." He said grandly, as if revealing a secret.

Charles' eyes widened and he felt his throat tighten: _how the hell did he get himself into this?_

"Boys have pee-pees, as you very well know," the little boy said pompously. "But girls have, well Sam said they have _messy bits._ "

Charles couldn't ever think of referring to what Elsie had as 'messy', perhaps 'heavenly' yes...

"Don't you want to talk about top hats or something, your suit for the wedding? You wanted to talk about that, didn't you?"

Alfie frowned. "But, will you and Mrs. C have babies?"

"I think we're a bit too old for all that. Besides we have Socks, and you. That's more than enough, don't you think?"

"Hmm...Okay. But do I still get to be greatest man?"

"Yes," Charles nodded quickly before it could lead to anything else.

"Great," Alfie jumped down from his chair, turning to look at Charles and alter his word choice, "Wonderful! Shall we play smack the ball now?"

"Once again, it's called croquet."

Alfie made a face, "Come on then, I'm winning, enough talk."

"Oh thank goodness." Charles sighed.

* * *

Later that night, he was standing by the bed removing his dressing gown as he recounted the entire story to Elsie as she sat reading.

"And then he spoke of pee pees and women having messy bits… I was somewhat at a loss."

She frowned, slipping her glasses off, "Messy bits? Why do we come off the worse, surely male bits are considerably messier to look at?"

"How so?" He drew back the bedsheets and plumped his pillows.

"Well, it's always hanging about, doing its own thing. Not neatly tucked away."

" _Doing its own thing?_ " He stared at her blankly for a few seconds before settling on, "I can't believe we've just had this conversation."

"Ha, that's the influence of six-year-old."

"Well, let's wipe it from memory." He pulled his legs into bed, twisting to turn off his lamp before lying down. "Messy bits indeed," he mumbled as he turned on his side, his back to Elsie.

"Night," she said softly, staring at his shoulder. It seemed Alfie's visit had cheered him somewhat and she was hopeful it might be a thawing of the ice, but still he slept beside her but separate and she was still finding it difficult to chip through the newly erected defences. She was hoping she might convince him to go out one evening with his friends, play snooker or cards or a quiz night, anything to get him out and socialising.

Yawning she closed her book, set it down on the bedside table and switched off the lamp. Shuffling down into the bed she squashed her pillows into the position she liked, leant briefly over and kissed Charles' shoulder before she laid down beside him, close to his back.

* * *

 **August**

Elsie watched as the deep red liquid glugged from bottle to glass. She languidly lifted a hand, taking a cracker from the plate in the centre of the table and munching on it.

Around her there was the bustle of conversation, but she seemed separate from it, detached.

"You will all of course not book to go away," Isobel said, picking at a bowl of crisps. "I expect each and every one of you to be there. Next July. And pray for good weather too."

"For a year?" Beryl laughed, "That's a lot of praying."

"I would choose you all as bridesmaids," Isobel continued, "But…"

"We're all too old!" Beryl exclaimed and they laughed again.

"Elsie," Isobel said, touching her friend's hand. "Whatever's the matter?"

"He's struggling," she said softly, "And I can't help him. I don't know how." She took a gulp of wine and shrugged. "I'm useless, I know, but I wish I could find a way –,"

"You aren't useless," Isobel insisted. "Far from it."

Elsie rubbed at her forehead, "I know him, I know he'd rather pretend it hasn't happened, bury it and move on. But I don't think that's healthy."

"Everyone deals with things their own way," Beryl said, "if he's happy enough perhaps let him be."

"But he isn't. I don't think he is. It's like he'd rather screw it up and throw it in the bin than accept and deal with it." She sighed heavily. "I know we're different, we see some things differently but still…"

"Has he seen his friends?" Beryl asked. "Gone anywhere, out, his hobbies and what have you?"

She shook her head, "The only thing he does is read the paper, he's hardly seen the summer. The one thing," she tapped her nail against her glass, "occasionally he'll play with Alfie."

"That's something."

"But he's a child, he doesn't know… he can't possibly discuss the deeper feelings…" She grumbled. "Is it wrong of me to feel frustrated with him? I feel frustrated. And then I feel angry with myself for feeling that way, like a real fucking bitch."

"Have you argued?" Isobel asked, "I think it's perfectly normal. You're human, so is he, no matter how you love each other, it's normal."

"We haven't argued, no. We just don't speak. I think I'm being considerably patient really."

"What about his friends though, Robert? Has he been over?"

"Once, for a drink."

"How about you get them to take him out?" Beryl said. "Get him out of the house, into the fresh air. Or a night out possibly, could he do with some fun?"

Elsie sighed heavily, "Couldn't we all." She held her wine glass out. "Tell me something fun, make me laugh for a while."

* * *

"What have you done to your hair?" She gasped as he walked into the lounge, in his green pyjamas, with his glasses on the end of his nose.

"Nothing."

She put her book down in her lap and took off her own glasses, "That's not nothing. It's disappeared. I loved your hair."

"Well, less of me to love now," he slumped back onto the sofa across the other side of the coffee table.

"Charles!" She turned the top half of her body so she could see him better. "Don't be –," she paused, breathing deeply. "What made you do it?"

"Just fancied a change, it's no big deal." He opened his book, "It'll grow back."

She bit her lip, holding back, wanting to question him more but feeling they were always on the verge of some kind of argument.

She turned back, putting her glasses back on, listening to him pull his legs up onto the sofa and settle down. The way he'd pile the cushions behind him and grumble in his chest as he flicked through his book to find the page he'd finished on the night before.

"Oh," he announced, "Going out in the week, for a drink, just with the guys."

She smiled to herself, "That'll be nice."

"Mmm," he turned the page in his book and settled back to focus.

She crossed her legs at the ankles, wiggling her toes to shift the blanket from her feet – a warm summer evening in the lounge.

"I'll make cocoa soon," she said.

"Sounds good." He said gently.

They sat in contented silence as they read – both of them missing Charles' hair.

* * *

 **Late August**

"But you arranged this?"

"Not like that," she said calmly, switching on the kettle. There was the tightness he got in his voice when he was agitated, verging on anger. "I wanted you to get out."

"You don't have to orchestrate my friendships. My life."

"It's a night out, Charles," she dropped teabags into the pot. "Hardly a big deal."

He slumped into a chair at the dining table, bending to tie the laces on his brogues.

She watched him, arms folded as she leant back against the side. "Don't sulk."

"I'm not," he huffed.

"I was being nice."

"Yep."

"Good lord," she complained, huffing and pouring milk into her cup. "You want a cup of tea before you go?"

"No. Taxi will be here soon," he said, getting to his feet again and shaking his trousers into place. "Look alright?"

She turned back to lean against the side, crossing her arms and smiling at him, "Where you heading?"

"Some Indian restaurant Robert likes, you think beige trousers are a mistake?"

"No, I think you can probably use a knife, fork and napkin by now."

"Ha ha." He tugged on his shirt cuffs.

"I like you in that shirt."

"You bought it for me."

"I know, great colour, suits you."

He picked his phone up and swiped his finger over the screen to check the time.

"I love Indian food," she said, pouring her tea. "If it's nice let's go together sometime."

"Sure."

"You don't really mind, do you? I didn't mean to interfere."

He huffed again, in that flabbergasted, flustered way he had.

"Sweetheart, I just wanted you to see your friends."

"You make me sound like a child," he dug his hands into his pockets.

"You know I don't think that, or mean that. I don't want you to feel I've taken over." She sipped her tea, "I just enjoy seeing my friends, getting things off my chest with them, I thought you might like it too."

"A-ha."

"Is this as much conversation as I'm going to get?"

He raised his eyebrows, "I'll be off in a minute. You'll be okay?"

"Course," she found his sudden question amusing, she'd spent a lifetime living alone. "Going to order pizza, got myself some wine, and work to do."

"Good. I won't be too late."

"Don't rush," she said. "Enjoy yourself, have a few drinks, a chat."

"Will be good to see them." He slipped his jacket on. "So, I'll see you tomorrow I guess, if I'm home after you're asleep."

"Alright," she stepped towards him and kissed his cheek. "You look very handsome."

"Thanks."

"Don't go flirting with anyone."

"As if."

She kissed him again before he left, "Have fun. Love you."

* * *

She's not sure what wakes her, and for a few moments she lies painfully still staring at the darkness. When she finds the strength to move an arm to push the bed sheets down she realises how oppressive the heat is. She turns her head, reaching for the glass of water on the bedside table, and notes the time 3:03 and she is alone in bed.

And then there is the sound again and she realises it was that which woke her. Somebody downstairs, outside, fumbling with keys and jiggling the lock. She recognises the distinctive sound of a bunch of keys hitting the tiled floor in their porch and pushes the sheets completely off her, getting out of bed and quickly making her way downstairs.

"Bloody, bloody…" she hears before she switches on the hall light. "Who made this infernal thing?"

"Wait a second," she says, blinking to find her key.

"Hey!" He says, sweeping into the house, his hands on her waist. "Hero. Heroine."

"Good lord you smell of smoke."

"Men's club, smokers." He turns her around, dancing with her. "Come on."

"Had a good time then?" He wobbles and she holds his arms, "How much have you drunk?"

"Not enough." He leans into kiss her, hands on her bottom. "Gorgeous! Fine fitting woman."

"Charles, come on," she pushes away from him. "Let me lock up."

When she turns around he is slumped on the stairs trying to remove his shoes, "Remember when we did it here? Sexiest sex of my life."

She stands over him, taking his shoes from his hands.

"No doubt about it, you're the best fuck."

"Oh god, you really have had enough, you never speak this way," she rolls her eyes, grasping his hands. "Let's get you to bed."

"Yes let's. And do things, turn me inside out." He pulls her to him, moaning as he kisses her.

She presses her hands to his chest, "As much as I love your attentions, you're drunk and exhausted. It's the early hours of the morning."

Somehow she gets him upstairs to the bedroom, removes his shirt and trousers and gets him onto the bed.

He pulls her to him, between his legs, his large strong hands on her backside again and squeezing. "Let's fuck now, wrap your legs around me, hold me tight…" he presses his face into her stomach gasping.

She rests her hands on his back, rubbing his skin soothingly, pressing a kiss to his head. The now short hair bristling against her chin. She thinks he might be crying but then he looks up at her, reaching to touch her face.

"I love you more than anything in this world, or universe, and whatever's beyond the universe. Matter and whatnot."

"You love me more than _matter_?" She says gently, a slight smile emerging. "Let's get you into bed."

He is calm now and does as she requests, lying back and closing his eyes. "It's too warm," he says.

"I know," she peels off his socks, leaves them on the floor, they can be dealt with later. "There we go, now, get some sleep."

She lies next to him, their arms pressing together.

"I had a good time," he mumbles.

"I'm glad." She kisses the top of his arm, turning onto her side, "Go to sleep now."

* * *

 **Early September**

He wakes early and is reminded it is almost the end of summer – somehow that fact seemed to have passed by his grieving mood. To grieve in summer seems such a waste.

He lays for a while listening to the birds, watching the sunlight change shape on their walls. Sunday is still and silent, and he enjoys the solitude. Socks has taken to going out at night, often turning up with some little parcel of surprise on the doorstep the following morning, but he enjoys having his pillow space back from the little rascal.

Beside him Elsie sleeps, though he can tell it is light. He knows her breathing by now, and it is both comforting and alluring. He twists onto his side, his broad chest bare in the summer months. Her face, so beautiful in repose, draws him in; she still takes his breath away, though time passes and life happens, he feels it will always be this way.

He reaches to where one arm is bent above her on the pillow, traces a finger down the softest most tender spot by her wrist. She flinches. He smiles, watching as her fingers twitch and clench in sleep.

Sometimes things happen too quickly, not that it's a negative, quick fun and passion can be wonderful. But he realises, lying here watching her, that he doesn't always take the time to enjoy her beauty. The way her chin dips, how her hair falls, the shape of her eyes. That mouth he must have already kissed a thousand times.

Her chest rises with a deep breath as his hand disappears beneath the sheet and his palm reminds him of the silky gloriousness of the skin below her breasts. The slight rise of her belly, the curve of a hip full in his hand.

He presses closer to her, feeling summer return to his body, sunlight driving out his gloom, or pushing it momentarily aside. It seems an age since he's loved her.

A kiss to her forehead, eyes closed, and then over her cheek, down to her mouth until she wakes languidly and kisses him in return. Slow, deep, sweet kisses that make her sigh into his mouth. She is half asleep but more than reciprocating. Her hands coming to life as she wakes and reaches for him, her hips raising up to his, pushing her pelvis forward.

The bedsheets tangle around his legs as he moves on top of her, her legs parting around him, welcoming always welcoming. The softest warmest thighs he's ever known and his heart pressed against his ribcage as it strains to be close to her. He could drown in her.

Those freckles on her chest. He remembers the first time he saw them, traced their destination with his eyes, before he was brave enough to touch. He dances his mouth over them now, because he can and there is intimacy and he's missed it, as dark and lost as his mind might be. Clarity here, with his lips tender upon her skin and she smells of eternity – the freshness of a new day and hope for the future all rolled into one.

His attention is glorious and much needed. Longed for even. She could wake fully now, if she wanted to, but there is something wonderful about doing this under the haze of sleep. With his slow, measured movements, and their mouths pressed together in an unending shower of kisses.

"I've missed you," she breathes against his ear, and he feels her lips touch the shell of it as he moves inside her.

He's missed it all, the slightest movement sends shivers through his entire body and he feels her react in the same way. Perhaps it has been too long, more than, and to be here again in her arms, her body. There is no pain in this tenderness. Nothing else can exist.

He feels her climax first, slow and steady, and it travels through her body crawling along every nerve ending and setting her alight time and again; a slow, growing orgasm. She feels like she's glowing from the inside out. His voice is muffled, clouded in her hair, but she makes out her name within his groans. And then he lies on top of her for the longest of times, holding on whilst he can, his hips jerking as he seeks out the last tremors of pleasure.

When he slides to the side she exhales, stretching into the soft warmth of the bed. She twists her body, creeps an arm across his waist and finds the place on his chest to rest her hair. There can be nothing more glorious than making love on a Sunday morning and then sleep, the wondrous welcome of sleep.

* * *

Waking alone wasn't what she expected, but maybe she'd forgotten about his golfing or a walk or a work meeting. Maybe he didn't even tell her.

She would've liked to wake with him still here, holding her, chatting leisurely as they woke and argued over who would get up first to make a pot of tea. As it is she showers and dresses before she goes down, hair tied back, no make-up, for she plans to spend the day at home pottering about.

It is already after eleven by the time she has cleaned up after the cat and hoovered the lounge, she makes a second cup of tea and goes into the garden. Socks chases after her, excitedly bouncing across the grass and chasing whatever flutters or moves.

"You'll get your nose stung," she tells him, bending to pull weeds and drop them into a bucket. "Look at these," she chatters to him, "they grow so quickly in summer, quicker than mummy's flowers."

Her body creaks as she gets up from her knees and for a second she recalls the sound of their bodies together that morning.

"Too old baby," she says to the cat. "You're having fun, aren't you?" He rolls on his back, rubbing his spine into the grass and crying at her. "Silly little thing. How about you start peeing outside now so that I can get rid of that smelly tray."

"He's too lazy."

She looks up, shielding her eyes from the sunshine as she stares at Charles. "Hi."

"Hi, you want some help?"

"Grass needs cutting, if you want to take it on. I can start on dinner."

He nodded, slumping into a chair and drinking her lukewarm tea. "I can manage that."

"May I ask where you've been?"

He sucked on his tongue, frowning in the brightness of the day, "Went for a walk by the river."

"Oh. Might it have occurred to you that I would've liked to walk with you?"

"I needed the peace." He closed his eyes briefly at her expression and smiled as she scowled at him, that familiar quick scowl. "Not that you're noisy. I didn't mean that."

"Evidently." She picked up the empty cup and kissed the top of his head. "Put a hat on if it gets too hot, and don't mow the cat."

"Got it," he saluted and spent the next fifteen minutes replaying the conversation and questioning each and every word. This wasn't like him and he disliked the fact he couldn't seem to clear his head no matter what he did.

* * *

There was garlic chicken for dinner, a full roast, and good salad and the tiny roast potatoes she made that he loved. Meringue and strawberries after and plenty of cream.

"Thought Socks would be begging," she said, watching as he helped himself to more dessert. "Cream on his nose."

"Not seen him since I started the mower and he pissed off."

"Where did he go?"

"Galloped off when it started."

She finished her wine, "You know he hates it. You should've sent him inside."

He frowned and put his spoon down, sitting back and folding his arms.

"What?"

"Say what you want to say."

"I don't know what you mean."

"The things I do wrong – get stuck in."

"Oh Charles, I'm hardly doing that." She got to her feet, "You finished with your plate?"

"I have now."

She put his back down, and took hers over to rinse with the other dishes.

"You don't cook steak well."

"Sorry?" She said, rolling up her sleeves.

"You either burn it or its raw."

"Where's that come from? We had chicken."

"Just an observation," he shrugged.

"You're being mean for mean's sake."

"Weren't you?"

"I asked why you didn't fetch the cat in Charles, stop snapping at me."

"Shall we do it then, right now?" He banged his hand flat against the table. "We've been building for a while."

"Since when do you disappear after making love to me?"

"Since when did it matter to you?"

"That's an awful thing to say. Don't be cold." She blinked back tears, knowing he didn't mean it. "Don't."

"I'm going to work."

"Where? It's Sunday."

"Upstairs."

"Talk to me, Charles!" She yelled. "Just open up to me."

"I can't, don't you understand that?"

She shook her head, biting on her lip to stop tears and reminding herself it wasn't him, he didn't mean it. It was grief and grief could do the most awful things.

* * *

It rained in the afternoon, that sudden summer downpour that would come to wash away the headiness of heat. Leaving behind that wonderful fragrance of green.

She paused on the stairs, an armful of freshly ironed clothes, that wonderful scent – warmth, steam and something like lavender left over from the wash. Her eyes caught the outline of the cat, on his belly in front of Charles' door, the shaft of light from underneath circling his body like a halo. He peered at her quizzically, his ears pricking up as she neared the top of the stairs, and she wondered why he was there and not inside with his father.

Something about the atmosphere bid her to remain quiet, and she tiptoed to their bedroom and set the laundry down on the bed.

Standing by the door in the semi-darkness she stared down the hall to where Charles' office was, feeling a little like a child again, caught on the landing listening it her parents argue in the room below. The silence of the darkness her friend.

Her eyes closed, ears buzzing with the beat of her own heart and she rubbed the nub of her engagement ring with her thumb as she focussed in on every sound, trying to picture him in is room working. He'd been so resistant, so detached. When she heard the slight crack of his throat and realised he was crying she felt that lurching in her stomach akin to falling off something high, a slight dizziness, a quicker heartbeat.

She took a few steps and stood in silence outside his door. Socks scowled at her intrusion and moved to the top of the stairs; she watched as he licked his paws, one hand hovering in mid-air near the door; she wanted to tap and go in but wasn't sure he'd welcome her visit, she wanted to comfort him but wasn't sure what comfort she could give. He seemed an island of late.

Inside, Charles sat with his head in his hands, elbows balanced on the surface of his desk, his head throbbing from working all afternoon and then crying. He wasn't used to crying. He was angry for himself for doing it. He was annoyed with himself for shouting at Socks at sending him out of the room. For not being able to get any work done. For being so damned harsh with the woman he loved.

Elsie twisted the door handle, stepping inside, no words, little thought. His broad wide back shook as her cried, shoulders slumped and her heart broke for him. She slid her hands to his shoulders, over and down his chest, her chin resting on his left shoulder, her eyes closed as she pressed herself against his back. He reached one hand up to press against hers where they lay upon his heart.

Silence and comfort in the warmth of her embrace.

She rocked him gently, held him like that until the tears subsided and they were simply two people in the quiet of a Sunday evening.

When his tears had abated and the shaking in his body eased she pressed a kiss to the side of his temple, her mouth just above his ear.

"Talk to me," she whispered, "I'm here, I always will be. As long as matter exists."

He snorted at this, smiling through his tears.

"If I lost you…"

"That's not a discussion we need to have now."

"But it is. You see. It's clouding my mind, losing you – finding you, marrying you and then to lose you. I couldn't cope with that."

"No. But it is the reality of things, life and death."

"I know. It all seems so unfair, such timing… I'm so angry about it all." He said more forcefully. "And I don't know what to do with that."

"It will abate, in time."

He twisted his neck so he could look at her, "I don't mean to take it out on you."

"I know."

"I just wanted her here to see us marry, to meet William. I wanted to achieve the normal things in life and for her to see them. Marriage. Children."

"You think she wasn't proud of you for who you already were? My darling, she couldn't have been prouder. And she loved you, there's no plainer way to say it. She loved you. And she knows she was loved and in the end, that's all that matters. You loved her and you took care of her when she needed it. Even when it was hard. And we will do the same, because that's family, that's life… that's love."


	45. Chapter 45

**New Year's Eve – chapter 45**

 **Early September**

Of course it would be raining. It just added to Elsie's already frazzled state of mind as she rushed about; she was late, and tired, and the taxi was stuck in traffic. Her stockings had snagged on the car frame as she'd climbed in, her black dress was splattered with rain drops and she was busily trying to make her hair look halfway decent by clipping it up as they drove to the Indian restaurant.

It was the expensive one on the far side of the city that she rarely visited due to the price you had to pay for a naan bread. But it was Cora's birthday and so, her choice. And she was late. She'd been away for almost ten days, visiting her father to begin with for a long weekend and then working her way back down the country checking on her properties as she went.

Charles wasn't sure she'd make it or not, her train had been delayed by a few hours so he'd gone alone and made her excuses.

When she rushed in, flustered and embarrassed, Charles flashed her the most of wonderful of smiles as the waiter showed her to the table.

"Elsie," Cora said, getting to her feet, "glad you made it."

"Sorry I'm late," she kissed Cora's cheek. "And Happy Birthday."

"Thank you, we've only just ordered, you can just add onto it. Difficult trip, Charles said."

"It was just a pain; bloody train timetables are useless." She moved around to the opposite side of the table, to where Charles sat on the end, passing people and feeling embarrassed for doing so.

"Hi darling," he said, standing to hold out her chair and simultaneously kissing her cheek.

She slipped down into the seat beside him, "Sorry." She whispered, "Didn't realise I'd be quite so late."

"Just glad you're here," he said, his hand resting on top of hers on the table. "Missed you."

"Wine, Elsie?" Isobel across the table from her asked.

"Oh hello," she leant across to touch her friend's hand. "I forgot you'd be here sweetie. Hi Richard, how are you?"

"Good. You've been away working, Charles said."

"Mm," she sipped her wine, feeling Charles' hand slide onto her leg beneath the table, his palm warm and firm as he left it just above her knee as a silent reassurance – a sign he'd missed her presence. "I'm thinking of selling a couple of the houses further north, I wanted to inspect them. It's too late this year, we already have students booked in this September, but if I can plan ahead, Tom and I could do with the capital being freed up."

Around them the table was filled with chatter, Charles was turned to his left chatting to other friends, and she was glad Isobel was across from them; odd how she still felt she needed an alliance with these things, how she still felt slightly out of place with the group.

"So, less than three weeks to go, how are you feeling?"

"Pretty relaxed," Isobel said, "Everything's planned, it's all done, ready to go really."

"Looking forward to the honeymoon," Richard added, "ready for some sun."

"The Canaries should still be gorgeous," Elsie said. "I'd be frantic. I am frantic. We were meant to have an engagement party, we haven't done that. We were meant to try and organise a wedding," she shrugged, "guess it won't happen this year."

She felt Charles turn beside her, his upper arm pressing against hers.

"Oh no," Isobel pulled a face, "I was looking forward to us marrying in the same year. You can't make it work?"

"Charles mentioned New Year's Eve," Robert said from down the table, and she felt her stomach cringe at the thought they were coming across as being at crossed purposes.

"That's the goal," Charles quickly said, "But if not this year, then next. We can wait…" he patted her leg reassuringly and she knew from the tone of his voice that waiting was the last possible thing he wanted to do. "You should order food," he said, "or we'll have ours without you."

"Yes," she got up and made her way to the desk where a waiter stood, opening a menu and choosing her dishes, adding them to the order.

Isobel rose too, standing behind her and waiting, "Let's visit the ladies," she said, tapping Elsie's elbow.

They disappeared down the hall, checking the cubicles were empty before they started to speak. "Is everything okay? You seem tense."

"I rushed," Elsie said, taking her hair down again and re-pinning it this time with a decent mirror. "I'm tired and Charles is grumpy with me."

"How come?"

"Because I was away longer than I planned, because he thinks I'm putting more thought and effort into this new business venture than our future. Getting married."

"Cold feet? Or did you just never really want to do it?"

"I want to do it, course I do, I love him very much." She sighed, turning to look at her friend, "it just seems a mammoth task and what with his mother and the upheaval – he's found it all so hard, I'm worried he somehow thinks marrying will solve things and it won't be some magic… I don't think it will suddenly take away his grief."

Isobel shrugged.

"You disagree?"

"Is it for me to say?"

Elsie pulled a face, turning back to the mirror and applying her lipstick.

"It might help, something to look forward to. Perhaps you're still more concerned that you're not enough, not marriage in itself."

"Perhaps…" she groaned, "I don't even know what I'd bloody wear."

"A long dress in some shade of white. Make a deal with him or something, he sort the church side, then you do the party. You know I'll help, and Beryl, and Anna. You're not alone."

"Men are useless at things," she complained, "he couldn't even order the right flowers for Cora's gift, he rang me at 11:30 the other night saying he'd got confused on the website."

Isobel laughed, "We all know his issues with the internet," she said, remembering the traffic cones. "And did you save him?"

"Yes. Of course."

"Well then," she smirked. "Your role in life is clear. Save Charles Carson."

* * *

She was in the bathroom several hours later brushing her teeth and reflecting on that very thing when Charles walked in. In the mirror she watched him pee, saw how he wobbled slightly from the wine they'd consumed. His face was ruddy and his hair slicked back from where he'd washed his face when he'd changed for bed.

"You've got a bruise on your back," she said, before rinsing her mouth.

"Banged it in the shed, was trying to move a few things around and knocked it on the lawn mower handle."

"It doesn't hurt?"

"Not now." He held her from behind, kissing the back of her neck, breathing in her scent. "Good night."

"Food was lovely," she wiped away her mascara, enjoying the sensation of him holding her, paying her attention. "You think we should bother with an engagement party?"

He looked up from where he was kissing the top of her back, staring at her in the mirror, "I'd like to, don't you…"

"I was just thinking time's getting on."

"Won't take much to organise, we could do something here one Saturday night, get the last of the light evenings before autumn really hits. Hire some of those heater things."

So, he really wanted this.

She nodded, "Alright, we'll sit down and plan it tomorrow morning."

"You taking me out for breakfast?" He pushed down one strap on her slip and kissed her shoulder.

"I can. Or I'll cook."

He pushed down the other strap and kissed across from one shoulder to the other.

"Love you," he murmured, "I've missed you."

"I've missed you too." She was in no doubt as to what he wanted, and she felt a little angry with herself that actually she wasn't entirely in the mood for sex. But she'd left him alone for a while and he wanted to make love and she wanted to make him happy.

So she turned in his arms, kissed him deeply, held him and let him take her to bed and do all the things a loving couple did.

Only two hours later she was downstairs taking painkillers because, for some stress-inducing reason, sex had started to hurt.

* * *

There was sunshine in the morning, and the patio was warm enough for them to sit outside. Elsie cooked sausages for Charles, made scrambled eggs and roasted cherry tomatoes and they sat outside to eat whilst Socks scampered about, still young enough to find any change in activity exciting.

"Do you want any more toast?" She asked.

"Another slice perhaps, are you getting up?"

"I was going to make more tea so yes." She stood, leaning across to get the tea pot and grimacing slightly as she did.

"What's wrong, you pulled something?"

"Mm, it's nothing, just a twinge." She straightened up, "like cramp."

"In your leg?"

"Not quite. Won't be a minute, throw Socks his ball again will you."

He did as she asked, amusing himself as he watched the cat run back and forth, tossing the ball between its paws and then letting it roll away before he pounced on it again. He was sitting at Charles' feet when Elsie came back, being fed a piece of sausage.

"You'll make him fat."

"Just a treat."

She put a plate of toast down and the tea pot and retook her seat.

"Good god, I've told you about screwing the marmalade lid too tight."

He took the jar from her, "Sorry. Forget. There you go. How's the cramp?"

"Easing," she bit into her toast, contemplating whether to tell him or not the source of the uncomfortableness. "It's a female thing."

"Oh," he put his fork down. "Any way I can help?"

She pushed her plate aside, "You see, when women get older…"

"Is this something that'll make me feel queasy?"

She shrugged, "Doesn't matter."

"No, tell me. When women get older…"

"They get drier," she snapped, then felt bad for doing so.

"Your skin?" He asked, clueless until she gave him a knowing stare and then he blushed furiously. "Ah, I see. So, you're…"

"In the throes of menopause and things aren't as they were."

"Right," he bit on his lip. "So, you feel uncomfortable now. Got it."

"Yes… because of last night, I wasn't quite…" Goodness it was hard to make him understand.

His eyes widened again, "Are you trying to tell me you didn't enjoy last night?"

"It's not that I disliked it. It just wasn't quite so pleasurable as usual."

"And yet you said nothing," he sat back in his chair, his mind running through the events of the previous night, for some reason growing angrier the more he reflected on it. "Are you telling me you let me have sex with you even though it hurt?"

"It wasn't like that… it didn't… it's hard to explain."

"Bloody well try."

"There's no point being angry. I'd been away, we'd missed each other and you wanted to."

"This makes me sound like a philistine."

"It's nothing of the sort. It's not so black and white."

"What is it then?"

"Let's stop the conversation now, drink your juice, eat your toast."

"Not feeling quite so hungry anymore."

"Oh Charlie, I wish I hadn't said anything."

"How do you expect me to react?"

"Compassion might be nice."

He felt guilty at that.

"I don't want to talk about it anymore," she asserted, "it's embarrassing. Forget it. We just won't have sex again then there won't be an issue."

"That's a grown-up way of dealing with it."

" _You_ don't have to deal with anything, your cock still works, you have no worries. So, bully for you, fuck who you want and no awkward conversations."

"Elsie!"

But she was already on her feet and stamping her way back into the house, dumping breakfast pots in the sink.

He gave her a minute, contemplated his response, before going in behind her. He stood at the door, closed it after him – he loathed public arguments, they made him cringe, and here they were arguing in the garden.

"I don't want to… _fuck_ anybody else, as you say." He said gently.

"I know," she was running water on the dishes, her hands submerged in the bubbles. "I didn't mean that. I'm just a bit upset."

"I responded poorly, I'm sorry for that. I didn't think."

"It's fine, you don't like discussing these things, I shouldn't have said anything."

"Course you should. I don't want us to be making love and you in pain. That's not what it's about. You know it's not, and I _am_ compassionate."

"I know." She stopped what she was doing. "I'm upset because my body, for the first time in my life, isn't doing what I want. But, I don't want to talk about it now. I'll go to the Doctors again, see what they say."

"Ruined breakfast."

"We'll survive."

He dug his fingers into his hand, he wondered if whilst they were discussing serious issues he should press his next point, something that had bothered him for a couple of weeks.

"The engagement party?" He said tentatively.

"Yes?"

He sighed, "Do you still want to marry me, Elsie?"

She turned to face him, melting at the expression on his face and the tone in his voice, "Of course I do. I would never have said yes if I wasn't ready, if I didn't want this. Of course I do."

"Right, so no more messing about. We'll have an engagement party, we'll start looking at dates for next year, perhaps."

"Next year?"

"I'd marry you tomorrow but you seem reluctant to get on with things."

"I'm starting a new business."

"And I understand that, god we're at crossed swords here."

She watched his shoulders sag, the way he skulked across the kitchen, pacing.

"Izzy suggested we split the organisation." She offered.

"Well of course we will, I don't expect you to do it all. I want the church, I'll organise that. And the honeymoon, because I have an idea."

He was excited about it all, she hadn't quite stopped to consider that, what it meant to him.

"I'd do it all," he offered plainly.

"I'd like to organise the party, I can do that. We'll decide between us, of course."

"Of course."

They stood facing each other, at something of an impasse after an emotional conversation.

"I feel like we should shake hands," he said and Elsie held hers out to him, a serious expression on her face. He chuckled, taking her hand and pulling her to him. "Come here," he kissed her head as he held her, "I love you, you know."

"I know. I love you too."

"Well then, things will be fine."

* * *

"Shall we order tea?" Beryl asked scanning the menu.

"I need wine, it's bad for me, apparently, but I need it regardless." She glanced at her watch. "It's after twelve, we're fine, share a bottle with me?"

"A bottle between the two of us? I won't be able to function this afternoon."

"Are you working?"

"Got some things to do, let's settle for a glass."

"Fine, though I might have two."

"Fair enough. Why do you need it?"

"Been to the Doctor this morning."

"You're ill? You wanna share this seafood platter to start?"

"Sure," Elsie put her menu down, folding her hands. "Can I ask something personal?" Beryl nodded barely looking up from the menu. "Do you and… Erm…?"

"What?"

"Sex, do you still have sex?"

"Course we bloody do, why? Things dried up?"

Elsie rolled her eyes, "Exactly that."

"He's not interest–, oh, _that_. I see."

"Hence the Doctor."

Beryl put her menu down, "You're upset over this?"

"Frustrated," she said, her voice whining, "yes I'm upset. You know me, I like sex, I enjoy it. And I finally find a man I want to make love to not just 'fuck'," she whispered, "and then this. It's unfair."

"It's life."

"Bugger life. I don't want to grow old and be useless."

"There's lots to do."

"The Doctor said that, start with creams, lubricants, see what happens. If it's really bad I can try oestrogen supplements."

"You'll be fine, just gotta get used to a new routine. Use it or lose it is what they say. Stop pouting."

"I want it to just work."

"You're telling me you've never had trouble getting in the mood before, or reaching orgasm."

"Not really."

"Freak."

"This is punishment for overuse."

Beryl laughed, "Maybe, serves you right,"

"That's not helping."

"Well, sulking won't help neither. After dinner we'll go to Boots and buy some products for you to try. You've been having hot flashes for a while, haven't you? You take things for that?"

"Yes, kind of, and irregular periods. I knew it was coming, hoped this bit 'ud skip me, stupidly."

"Poor Charles, he'll be used to getting some now."

"You think he'll mind?"

"Oh god, I was joking, teasing. He adores you, sex or not. Besides, my thinking is it's you who can't last long without it, so you won't rest until you find something that helps. Now, can we order, I'm starving."

"Yes. What are you going to wear to Izzy's wedding, did you decide between those three dresses?"

"The lilac I think. What about you?"

"No bloody idea." She glanced at the menu then closed it. "I'll share the fish thing and just have a salad. And bread. Oh and now the engagement party."

"Who's?" Beryl put her menu down, staring at Elsie over the top of her glasses. "Do you mean yours? Thought you'd given up on the idea, you've been engaged for an age."

"You think it's a stupid idea?"

"Course not. Any excuse for free booze and a knees up, you know me, I'm there. And usually Elsie Hughes never misses a party."

"Usually not."

"You don't want to celebrate?"

"I do, I just feel… busy, I feel really busy and tired."

"Then stop. Take a couple of days off, spend a day in bed, sleep, do nothing work related."

"I know." She sipped her water. "I don't like to leave it to others…"

"That right there has always been your problem, I sense Charles is a kindred spirit. Share the work, share the burden, it's what marriage is about."

"What if we did something simple, like just at our house, would that be silly? I get the feeling that certain people would thumb their nose at it."

"Well bugger them if they do, oh I know, make it an afternoon start thing, a family thing – then Charles' favourite person can be there."

Elsie giggled, "Oh god, the other day they were face painting, Alfie came running into the office painted as a vampire – it looked pretty good actually, Charles had done it. Teeth and blood and what have you." She laughed again, "They'd driven over in that state. Alfie had done Charles up…"

"What as?"

"A bat. He reluctantly comes trailing behind, face painted charcoal black, just two little eyes sticking out. All paint in his hair, like he'd had it streaked."

"Did you take pictures?"

"Of course, perhaps I should print it."

"Hang them up at the party, that'd be cute, pictures around the place, in the garden. You could show the world a new side to him, no naked ones mind."

"Oh, as if! He would never let me do that!"

"Well, he's still got a lot to learn, I see. Especially when we introduce the world of tingling, warming, fruit scented lubrication to the bedroom."

They both laughed together, Elsie hiding her mouth behind her napkin. "Oh god, you'll make me pee. Let's order and discuss safer things. Like dresses for Izzy's wedding, we're meant to match."

"We will, you'll be the taller more attractive one and I'll be the smarter, wittier one who doesn't look like so sluttish in the outfit."

"But is wickedly cruel!" She tapped her friend's arm, "Thanks for cheering me up."

"No problem. It's what I'm here for, sex advice and cheering up."

"Amen to that."

* * *

"Well, what do you think?" Elsie said, coming out of the bathroom in a midnight blue dress.

Charles was reading in bed, he glanced over the top of his glasses at her. "Looks good."

"That's hardly a ringing endorsement." She turned towards the mirror, lifting her hair up and holding it back from her face. "Maybe I should wear my hair up. Or take it back. I haven't cut the tag off just in case, it wasn't cheap. Is it too short?"

"Hmm?"

"Charles?" She stared at him in the mirror. "What are you reading?"

"My book."

"Help me out a second."

He put his book down on his lap and removed his glasses, "A second of attention."

"I'm overwhelmed. So, the dress?"

"It still looks good."

"You're annoying me now."

"What's it for?"

"Bloody hell, our engagement party. You think it's dull."

"I think it's elegant and beautiful and I'd like you to wear your hair down as that too is beautiful."

She allowed him a smile, "That's all it took. You may return to your book."

"Come here."

"What for?"

"Want to check the dress."

"No way, you'll crease it up and I want it pristine on the night." She clipped her hair up and unzipped the dress. "You think it's too dressy for a barbecue? Well, bugger it if it is, it's my party."

"And you'll dress up if you want to?"

She smiled, "Yes, exactly that."

He chuckled, his eyes glistening as she hung the dress, walking across the room in just her underwear. "I'm going to get a drink, you want another?"

"I want you to come here."

She smiled enigmatically, reaching for where her dressing gown hung over the bottom of the bed. "Not tonight darling, I'm feeling a little off the weather."

"Oh?" he coughed awkwardly. "Nothing serious?"

"No, just a cold I think, feel a bit blocked up. And I don't want to be ill this weekend." She leant over and kissed his head, "You sure you don't mind doing this, it's not too rushed?"

His eyes widened as he looked up at her, "You know the answer. And I get to be in charge, lord at the grill."

"Did you get a chef's hat, like I said?"

"I did, and so did Alfie, and an apron, 'assistant'."

"Assistant professional."

She fetched two glasses of port and brought them back to bed, slipping in beside him and cuddling against his arm as he read.

"You're still okay to fetch the food, aren't you?"

"Yes, I'll go Friday, apart from the bread, I want fresh bread so I'll nip out Saturday morning."

"I've ordered the wine, it'll be delivered Friday but don't worry about going out, they've got my number, I can nip home if need be. Time's like this I miss being just next door."

He put his book down, reaching for his port, "You know Alfie thinks we're going to turn it into a house for him."

"Ha, perhaps when he's a student and wants his own place he can rent it."

"You'd charge him?"

"You wouldn't." She wrapped her arm around his, "Been nice to see your love for him grow," she kissed his upper arm, yawning.

"Go to sleep. Stop worrying, you'll burn out."

"Beryl said the same," she yawned again, sitting up and downing the rest of her port. "Sorry to be a bore."

"Oh yeah, I've never been more bored." He rolled his eyes and she chuckled, laying down beside him.

"You're beautiful," he said, touching her hair.

"It's the natural remedies, make me glow."

He smiled, "I'm on your side you know, with all of this. You do know that, don't you?"

"Yes Charles, I know that." She squeezed his hand. "Read your book."

* * *

For a minute or two, Charles stopped, stood still where he was and surveyed the garden. It would be the last of these types of afternoons, fading sunlight, a cooling temperature. Soon, the grass wouldn't need trimming for months, plants would shrivel and hide, and the birds which so amused Socks would disappear for a while.

He'd miss the sunshine then. When all was bleak and the days meandered along. January would be a good time to get away to a warmer climate, a bit of vitamin E, revitalisation. There were times during his years travelling abroad where he'd considered settling someplace warm, someplace that got the sun year-round. But the truth was, he missed home. He missed green. Fields. Snowdrops battling their way through, then daffodils and tulips filling the garden.

Right now, his garden was filled with the chatter of his friends. There was the joyful clink of glasses, Cora on her knees as a wobbly Sybbie tried out her legs. Elsie a vision in her blue dress, in fact they'd all made an effort – fancy such a thing, dressing up for a barbecue.

"I got the sticks, Mr. C," Alfie said, carrying over a tray.

"They're kebabs."

"Mum says drunk people eat kebabs on the way home from the pub." He straightened his chef's hat.

"Ah different type, they have pitta bread and odd looking meat."

"Like Turkey dinosaurs?"

Charles smiled, "Yeah, exactly. These are healthy, see, plenty of vegetables – peppers, tomatoes, these are courgettes – all home grown."

"By us."

"Yep, then you know it's good, and chicken breast."

Alfie sniggered, covering his face.

"What?"

"You said that word," he laughed again, "like boobies."

Charles felt his cheeks warm, "Different kind, you wouldn't say a chicken had…"

"…Boobies!" The boy seemed to find that hilarious. "Imagine a chicken with them, walking around like this," he pretended to cup two breasts and walk around Charles.

Despite himself, Charles laughed.

"Stop that, come on, we best get these cooking. Nice bit of that sweet chili sauce you like and you can dip these in, it'll be lovely."

"Amazingful!"

"No made up words. Look how tall you are now, you can reach all on your own."

"Mum says I'm growing like a weed." He delicately laid the kebabs on the grill. "What's in those ones?"

"Corn on the cob, little butter on them, wrap in foil and leave on here to cook. Delicious. And your mum is right, eight already, soon you'll be getting too big to play trains."

"I will not," he asserted. He stepped back from the grill, "Mr. C, there's something serious I wanted to ask you about."

Charles recalled the conversation about sex and felt his pulse quicken, he scanned the garden for Ethel in case he needed saving. "Go on."

"I want you to adopt me."

"What?!"

"I thought about it, lots and lots, and I read it in a book at school and I think you should."

"Well, I'm very flattered Alfie. But what about your mother? She'd miss you. And little Charlie."

"What?"

"If I adopted you."

"I'm not leaving them. I want you to be my adopted Grandad. See. I thought about it. We can get a judge to make it that way."

Charles felt like sniggering, the simple innocence of a child's mind, and the way things can slot together. He took a breath and patted Alfie's shoulder, "I would love to be your Grandad. Really. But you have a Grandad, and I know you don't always get on –,"

"I don't like him," he sulked, folding his arms. "He is snappy and grumpy and grey. Like a foggy day."

"Now, Alfie…"

"You don't want to get the judge to do it…?" He asked plainly, looking up at the giant of a man with wide bright eyes.

"You forgot to fetch the second tray of sticks," Elsie said, putting down the tray of steak kebabs.

"We got talking," Charles said, looking hopelessly at her.

"Whatever's going on? You look a bit serious for a party," she squeezed Alfie's arm, "What's happening sweetie?"

"Mr. Carson doesn't want to be my Grandad."

"Oh I'm sure that's not true." She rubbed his hand reassuringly. "How's all this come about?"

"I told Mr. C that we can get a judge to adopt me, I mean, for Mr. C to be my adopted Grandad instead of my real one."

"Ohhhh…Okay. Well, that's a wonderful idea, he loves you very much," she eyed Charles sharply.

"I do, _I do_. I never said…"

"So then, perhaps, you can think of him as _one_ of your Grandads. You can have more than one."

"But, will he be my real one?"

"Well, you know really your mum needs to make decisions like this darling, not Mr. C."

"I go ask her now!" He raced off across the lawn.

"Oh shit," Charles mumbled, "She'll think it's me."

"Course she won't," she pressed her hip against Charles' side. "Kinda sweet really, thinking you'd be a more fun Grandad."

"I'm lots of fun!" He protested and Elsie laughed. "Alright. Didn't want to upset the lad, honestly, made me feel a bit emotional."

"I know," she stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, "my sweet man. Turn the burgers, people are getting hungry."

* * *

"Now stop that," Elsie said, returning with wine for Isobel and Richard only to find them kissing. "This is a decent establishment, not your run of the mill corner pub."

Richard chuckled, taking his glass of wine from Elsie, "My apologies, got carried away with thoughts of my beautiful bride to be."

"A week to go, and all's set," Isobel smiled. "Did you two decide on dresses?"

"Yes. We did. Beryl wanted lilac so I've found a similar colour."

"I will pay for the dresses, send me the bill."

"No way. And thank you, for whatever extravagant gift you've brought tonight, the box was huge."

"I hope you like it."

"I'm sure I will, you have exquisite taste. What time are you coming over on Friday?"

"I thought about seven, you are sure it won't be an issue for Charles?"

"Course not, he won't mind, he'll just keep out of the way."

"He's more than welcome to come for the night," Richard said, "join the boys. Should I say men, at my age?"

He chuckled at his joke and Elsie smiled, she knew very well Charles would hate to sleep in a strange bed but she would tell him of the offer.

"This lad, look at him," Robert said, joining the small group and watching as Alfie raced down the middle of the lawn with Charles chasing after him. "Look at the pair of them."

Charles caught Alfie up, grabbing him around the middle and spinning him in mid-air.

"Careful," Elsie cried out, "he's eaten his body weight in sausages!"

"I'm not going home yet," Alfie said, as Charles hoisted him onto his back. "I don't want to."

"You don't have much choice," Ethel said, putting Charlie into his pushchair. "Grandad is here to take you home, but you will see Mr. C next week when he comes to fetch you from school for karate class."

"Yes, we have a date," Charles said, carrying the child indoors to gather his belongings.

"He's good for him," Elsie said, "he's helped him so much, get over it all, you know. His mother."

"Children do that," Robert said, watching Cora carry over a sleeping Sybbie. "She ready for bed?" He asked his wife.

"She is, feel free to stay though, I can take her home. I've told Tom to stay, I'm assuming things will kick off once the children have gone home. I mean…"

"Oh, we're ready to start dancing now," Elsie said, "now I can finally have my man back." She cooed over Sybbie, "Look how beautiful she is, so content. Lucky, to have a grandmother who dotes so."

"You'll be a grandma too," Charles said, surprising her as he slipped his hands to her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder. "If I'm going to be Alfie's Grandad."

"Has this all been decided then?"

"Ethel agreed he can call it me, that means you –,"

"I am not a Grandma," she said playfully, turning around in his arms. "I am far too young."

"Hmm," Charles kissed her nose. "Time for a drink, and a dance." He looked to the gathered group. "What is it Benedick says?"

"Who?" Ethel said, reutnring with a glass of Champagne, without children and free to enjoy herself.

"He means in Much Ado." Richard said.

"Right at the end when they're all married and happy, _Come, come, we are friends: let's have a dance ere we are married_."

"But we aren't married yet," Elsie said.

"Close enough, and these two too." He indicated Isobel and Richard.

"Are things can start to get raucous?" Tom teased, watching Ethel watching him.

"Time for me to make my escape." Cora said, carrying Sybbie inside.

"We should all go inside," Elsie said, "don't want to disturb the neighbours with music outside."

"Perfect night though Elsie," Ethel said, "I've really enjoyed it."

* * *

At almost four in the morning, Elsie wearily made her way upstairs, ignoring the very obvious mess she would have to face when she re-emerged.

Socks appeared at the top of the stairs, crying at her, "Oh that's a woeful sound. Are you feeling ignored?" She scooped him up and held him against her chest, which seemed to be his favourite spot. "You didn't like all those people in the house, did you."

"He's not the only one." Charles called from the bedroom.

"You loved it," she said, going in and closing the door behind her.

"Yes, but only because it's our party. What happened to your dress?"

"I left it downstairs for the dry cleaners, some suspect stain on the hem that looks very much like red wine."

"I'll take it in for you on Monday," he took Socks from her, laying him on his lap and stroking his back. "We put on a good night."

"We did."

"Were Tom and Ethel kissing?"

"Best not to ask, just wait to be told once they've figured out what's going on." She clipped her bra off and hung it over the chair by her dressing table. "I bet I know what they'll be figuring out tonight."

"Oh God, long as they don't figure how to make another baby, neither has a great track record of using protection."

Elsie laughed, turning to face him as she wiped her make-up away. She wobbled a little in the movement. "Oops, bit tipsy."

"I'm impressed it's only a bit tipsy."

"I think I danced the alcohol off, or it's been swallowed up the amount of fatty food I ate."

"Good idea, a barbecue. Casual, fun."

"I liked you in that chef's hat," she teased, "In fact, I was hoping you'd wear it to bed."

"Oh," he said hopefully, sitting a little more upright. "I can go find it."

She giggled, "I'm joking. Besides, you're otherwise engaged." She pointed out as Socks stretched full length down Charles' leg. "Must pee, brush my teeth. Warm my side too."

When she came out he was lying across the bed with his eyes closed, Socks had moved to the windowsill, she could see his tail swinging below the curtains as he watched something out in the night. She switched off the light and got into bed, instantly wrapped in his arms.

He covered her neck in kisses, his hands at her waist holding her close to him.

"I love you so very much, my Elsie Hughes."

She slid her hand into his hair, "What will you call me once we're married?"

"Mrs. Carson, the wife," he looked up at her, a youthful grin on his face. "Her indoors."

"Cheeky," she settled on her back, holding his upper arms, and he leant over her. "I'm not sure," she said, biting her lip.

"I know. No rush. We're still finding out what works."

He kissed her mouth, pressing his body tight against hers. His hand slipped down to her left breast, cradling it in his palm and he moved to kiss the other. "Like silk," he whispered, "always thought that."

She closed her eyes, letting the effects of the alcohol take over as she relaxed beneath his touch. He was sure but gentle. Delicate in his movements but determined to please her. Feathery kisses across her chest, his tongue lingering on her nipples, tasting her all over again as if it were the first time.

"You make me so happy," he murmured as he reached her stomach, "bring me such joy."

She smiled as the warmth of his breath tickled her belly button, shivered when his fingers stroked along the sensitive spot at the side of her belly, and he laughed at how she always squirmed at that movement, at how her knees rose slightly.

"You know that…" She said.

"Ticklish," he returned, moving lower, to the slight paunch of her belly, the scent of her already filling his senses, overwhelming him.

He nudged the duvet back out of the way and settled himself between her legs, lifting one foot, forcing her leg to bend and open her up to him.

"I'm not sure," she glanced down at him.

"Relax, just say stop if you don't like it."

She let her head fall back, closed her eyes again and her mind swirled with dancing and tiredness. The lights from the disco ball Beryl had brought with her, the flash of a tight red dress as Ethel and Tom sneaked outside together.

A gasp escaped her, her hips lifted, and she opened her eyes at the flash of light filling her.

"Oh god, yes." She said, wanton, urging him to go on.

When she had melted beneath him some time later, moaning his name with her legs over his shoulders, he crawled back up her body, kissing her skin all the way.

"Happy?" He said, looking down at her sublime grinning face.

"Yessss…" she stretched like a cat in the sunshine, and he moved to one side as he watched her.

"So, I can mark that down as working?"

"Yes. Yes, yes, yes." She chuckled, turning onto her side and cuddling up against him. "Thank you. Thank God. I thought I'd lost it."

He laughed, kissing the top of her head. "Happy to help, believe me, any time."

"I owe you," she yawned. "Just, let me close my eyes a moment."

"Oh yes," he kissed her again, feeling fatigue take over his own body. Nothing could be better than sleeping with her curled in his arms. "Happy engagement party," he muttered as he drifted to sleep.


	46. Chapter 46

_Well, my busiest time of year has now passed (bye bye exam classes) and I'd like to say I can hopefully write this more quickly, but we shall see how the muse strikes..._

* * *

 **Chapter 46**

 **Late September**

Elsie shuffled beside Charles, he heard the slight tap of her heel on the ancient stone floor as she moved. It was slightly too cold in the long room, which was a shame really because it was beautiful to look at but not at all comfortable when Autumn was in danger of becoming Winter. Her hand, still encased in its leather glove, moved over his elbow and then around the top of his arm until he turned his hand over and she silently slid her hand into his. He glanced down, and then up to her face, serene as she watched one of her best friends marry.

He squeezed her hand and watched as she smiled, perfectly pursed lips on a perfectly made up face.

That morning he had woken up in a strange bed with a bit of a heavy head, not that he'd gone to bed drunk, but he hadn't slept well – he never did in a new bed despite his years of travel. And he felt unsettled when he'd woke, early, before the sun had even risen. He wasn't sure why, perhaps because he'd grown so accustomed to waking with either Elsie cuddling him or Socks asleep on his shoulder or head.

He'd wandered down to an unfamiliar kitchen to make tea and found Richard sitting in the milky light of the coming dawn.

"Morning," he mumbled, surprised. "You're okay?"

"Bit apprehensive you know," he had breathed like it was a breath he'd held in the entire night. "Want everything to go off without a hitch."

"It will," he flicked the switch on the kettle. "I'll make tea, soon have you feeling more positive." He watched as the nervous man's hands tensed around themselves, his eyes flicking to the window and the coming light. "What do you usually do when you're anxious?"

"Walk. Or paint, listen to something classical."

"Then do that," he glanced to the clock, "we've got hours… paint."

He recalled that as he stared at the back of the Doctor's shoulders, watching him sit in the garden in his dressing gown with his headphones on and a paintbrush in his hand. The painting itself was quickly abandoned – that wasn't the point – it relaxed him and when he went to shower he was a more confident, more settled man.

As the newly married couple leant in to each other and softly kissed, he lifted his hands to clap and felt Elsie's arm tug his as she reached to wipe her eyes. He curled one arm around her shoulders, pulled her against him and kissed the top of her head.

But for the grace of God it could be them.

"Love you," he whispered and felt her press against him, too tight, too emotional to speak. She nodded and wiped her eyes again.

* * *

"I just wanted a moment with you," Elsie said, locking the door behind him.

"We can't stay in here," he fussed, pulling on the light and blinking as it came to life. "It's the bloody disabled loo."

"I wanted you to myself for a second."

"We have a room booked upstairs."

"That takes too long and they'll be ringing the gong for lunch soon." She stood in front of him, hands on his stomach, that earnest bright-eyed look on her face as she gazed up at him. "Hi."

He smiled, shaking his head, "Hello. What did you want to say?"

"Nothing much," she slid her hands from his stomach around his torso and pressed her head against his chest. "Just needed a hug?"

He held her tightly, resting his chin on her head. "What's wrong? You can't be sad."

"I'm not… not sad… I just feel _odd_."

"Emotional, perhaps?"

"Reflective. This is a nice place, don't you think, this hall?"

"Lovely." He moved, and she lifted her face to look up at him. "You thinking we could find somewhere like this?"

"You wanted to marry in church."

He shrugged, briefly touching her hair, "I want to marry you."

"I want to marry you too," she sighed dramatically, changing her face, "More importantly, I want to wear a fancy dress like Izzy and be the centre of attention."

"Oh, you always are!" he teased and they laughed together before hugging again. "Let's not pretend you aren't the most stunning woman here today; I did say that didn't I, tell you how wonderful that dress looks?"

She chuckled, "I could tell with your eyes when I got out of the car. Not trying to seduce me in the toilets, are you?"

" _You_ dragged _me_ in here!"

"Because I'm not one for sex in toilets."

"Els…"

"I'm joking," she stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, rubbing the lipstick off with her thumb. "My old curmudgeon."

He lifted his chin, eyebrows raised as he appreciated the brief closeness, the sweetness of her warm scent.

She let go of him, a last squeeze to his hand, before she exited the cubicle. He gave it a few seconds before he followed. Discreet as he could be.

* * *

Charles kept his eyes fixed on his fiancée as she lifted the mallet and sent the red ball hurtling across the grass; 'gently', he whispered to himself, but he'd already tried to give her advice and she still struggled to tap the ball. It seemed Charlie grasped the rules quicker than she did. Beryl was no better though, and the two of them had consumed a fair amount of wine with dinner.

He scanned the grounds, watched women struggling on the grass in heels. Isobel, elegant and glowing as she greeted her guests, but she and Richard seemed to gravitate together – their shared looks, the hand on her back, or a touch of his arm. He recognised the need to always be close.

Draining the last of the beer in his glass he put it aside as the group returned to the patio area, passing other guests, Elsie's eyes on his – devilish and teasing.

"Now Carson, you should have played," Robert said, "we needed some talent on our team."

"You had me, darling." Cora sat beside Charles, taking the only free chair, and signalling to a waiter to order more champagne.

Beryl yawned, "You think there's a late afternoon siesta? Before the party kicks in?"

"I like this band they've got on," Elsie said, sitting on Charles' knee. "It's nice to have the background music."

"I always think this portion of the wedding is like a weird interval." Cora added.

"Drinking time," Bill asserted, tapping his knee, "come on Bez, room on here."

"I'm not quite as graceful as her ladyship."

Elsie laughed, snuggling back against Charles.

"Notice I had little say in this arrangement," he said, his hand on her leg. "And who won?"

"Us," Bill raised a hand.

"I need Charlie on my team," Elsie said, "then I would have won. Perhaps."

"You need to –," Charles started.

"– Be more gentle with the stick, I know…" she finished.

"Careful," Beryl warned, "no dirty talk at Izzy's wedding."

"You're terrible!" Elsie giggled, reaching for her glass of wine. "I'll have you know I handle the stick very well."

"Are we all staying tonight?" Charles quickly asked, "wonderful place. I hadn't thought about it; well, I always assumed weddings at these places, the ceremony I mean, would be a bit rushed and tacky."

Robert asked, "No it wasn't bad, they're a fairly swift affair sometimes."

"It's a wonderful place they've picked, and so nice the weather held up." Cora said, stretching her slender legs. "You can never be sure when you marry later in the year."

Elsie squeezed Charles' hand before pushing herself to her feet, "I'm going to wander around then go freshen up, change into my evening wear."

"Good idea." Beryl said, going with her.

"Did I put my foot in it?" Cora worried.

"Not at all, we're still in the air about it all," Charles assured her. "Nothing has been fixed, I think she's getting tense about it, about that I mean, the lack of a date."

"And you," Cora asked, touching the back of his hand. "How do you feel about it?"

"Like I want nothing more – despite the organisation, lack of time, stress over the guest list…" he glanced at Robert. "I'd want to invite Charlie and Alice."

"Of course," Robert nodded.

"I can understand why Elsie wouldn't want that," Cora said, "as much as I seem to be on a different wavelength to her –,"

"– No… it's not…"

"It's fine Charles, we're slightly different women from different backgrounds. But I can understand her not wanting Alice there."

"Truth is, I haven't even spoken to her about it, didn't seem a point until we set a date and things got moving." He closed his eyes, feeling the briefest hint of sunlight struggling through the clouds and onto his face. He couldn't give a damn about having Alice there, it was William he wanted, he didn't want to get married without his son there – it was bad enough not having his mother, that's what really hurt.

He felt that sudden wave of sadness hit him all over again. That lurch in his chest that slowly sank down into his stomach and reminded him once more that his mother was gone; things he might want to tell her, just to hear her voice complain to him about the state of politics, or the rubbish they kept putting on the tv.

Smiling, he got up from his chair. "Right, I shall go change and chase up my fiancée. See you in an hour or so for the evening festivities."

* * *

Charles turned the card key over in his hand as he made his way along the corridor, stopping and swiping it at number forty-seven and entering the bright room.

"Elsie?"

"Just in the bathroom, won't be a sec."

He loosened his tie, slipped off his jacket and carefully hung it over the back of a chair before sitting on the edge of the bed.

"You okay?"

"A-ha," she came out in her underskirt. "Just needed a moment."

"You're in your underwear," he smiled.

"I like how you point out the obvious."

He settled back against the cushions, "Never gets dull, seeing how good you look."

"I had to shower, change my knickers," she explained, letting down her hair from the clip.

"How come?"

She glared at him, "Perfect female timing in my uneven periods."

"Ah, sorry."

"I wondered why I was so emotional this morning, I kept crying."

He smiled knowingly, beckoning to her. "Come have five minutes before you change for the evening."

She did as he requested, tugging on his tie as she laid against him, "I like how you matched your tie to my dress."

"Of course, wanted to play the part."

She kissed his cheek, "You never told me."

"A man can have surprises." He cuddled her, kissing the top of her head. "You feel okay?"

"Mm, I took a couple of painkillers, and I'm annoyed you know, embarrassed. I feel a bit like I don't know my own body anymore, like it's failing me."

He listened silently, trailing his fingers up and down her back.

"I suppose I'm not used to not being in control. That annoys me. And I was hoping this would be a nice weekend, that we might give things a try."

He closed his eyes as he listened, holding her that little bit tighter, "We have the rest of our lives. And besides, making love isn't just this physical thing, not anymore."

She smiled, turning over to look up at him, "I don't know which God I pleased to find you."

"Perhaps all of them together."

Chuckling she rested her chin on his chest, "I am sorry though, I was looking forward to having some adult time, you know how I like a good hotel room."

"Oh yes," he toyed with her hair, "quite the aphrodisiac."

She rested her head down, closed her eyes and for a long time they lay in silence just enjoying the brief stillness after a busy day.

"You know, Richard painted this morning. Was so nervous he needed to do something to relax. It was oddly nice to see. He's good."

"Izzy was nervous too, which I'm not used to. She's always the 'together' one, in fact, don't tell anyone, but we had a G&T just after 10:00."

He laughed at that, "Your idea?"

"Cheeky, Beryl's suggestion I think."

"Happily supported by you," he playfully tapped her bottom and she turned to look up at him again.

"You know, tonight I would like to drink plenty of them and dance."

"Alright."

"With you?"

"Alright," he said softly. "But not too much if you feel unwell."

"I plan to enjoy myself despite getting old and slowly drying up."

"Never. You know, I thought of mother earlier, in fact, I thought of her a lot today."

"That's understandable, big occasion, makes you reflect."

"Made me think of our wedding day, of trying to involve her someway, even though she won't be there."

"I'm sure we can think of something. Her flower perhaps, music choices."

He nodded, "I miss her every day."

"I know." She squeezed his hand. "You know, perhaps you should go painting with Richard sometime, go out for the day somewhere, paint me a beautiful landscape."

"I'm not sure I'm up to his standard, still just a trainee."

"He won't mind that, and it would be good for you, to get out and enjoy it."

"I suppose. I'll see how he's fixed when they get back from honeymoon."

"Ah now, there's a conversation I'll be happy to have, where to go on honeymoon."

"Let's find a venue first hey, pick a date."

She pouted, "I'm rather fixed on New Year's Eve, I know it means waiting another year –,"

"No way," he interrupted.

"We'll never find some where nice free this year. So, we'll settle for waiting."

"I will find somewhere, if I have to sell my soul…"

"Charles," she laughed, getting up. "We best get changed, don't want to miss the hog roast."

"I am looking forward to that."

She rubbed his leg, "I already knew that."

* * *

"If we smoked, this would be the moment to do it," Beryl said, as she stared up at the night sky.

"Maybe we should smoke pot," Elsie suggested, her head on Beryl's stomach as she too looked up, her feet touching Isobel's, whose head was on Beryl's shoulder. "That'd surprise them all wouldn't it, if we all went back in stoned."

Isobel laughed, "I might find myself divorced before I've even been a wife."

"I might find myself without a fiancé," Elsie said. "Peaceful here."

"Bloody cold though," Beryl added, "we should have brought two blankets down here, not just the one to lie on."

"We won't stay much longer," Isobel said, "Brandy when we return, and then more dancing, we'll soon warm up. I just needed a moment, it's been busy all day, I've hardly had chance to see my favourite women."

"But you're having fun, it's all wonderful," Beryl said. "One of the best weddings I've been to. But then I would say that…"

"Oh, perfect cake," Elsie smiled. "Pride of place it has! You did a good job."

"Thank you dear. I did try my best." She wiggled on the floor, "God, this bra is driving me mad."

"Go change it, we have hours of dancing ahead of us yet."

"Yes, we do." Isobel said. "I didn't pay all this money out to waste it in the bedroom… if you get my meaning."

"We get you, he's a bit of a let down in that area!" Elsie teased.

"Don't you speak of my husband that way."

"Your husband," Elsie said, "does it feel nice to say it?"

"Absolutely. Like things should be. I like being married, I like what it means, what it brings to your life."

"Marriage has always meant ownership," Elsie said, surrounded by the purple haze of the sky. "To me, anyhow. That was my fear. Like saying 'my wife', 'mine, mine'…"

"It doesn't need to be meant that way. Being 'mine' can be romantic. Besides, Charles wouldn't treat you like that, you know him." Isobel said gently.

"I know, I know. He isn't like that at all. But…" she breathed deeply. "Marriage changes people, you've got this law and people, men, interpret it in some way – _you're my wife now_ , there are expectations. Ways to behave."

"Well, I'm guessing he wouldn't be too happy about you fucking some younger guy no," Beryl said and Elsie reached back and slapped her friend's leg.

"I was being serious."

"So am I." Beryl said, looking down at her, "You know better, you know that's not the case. Marriage can be wonderful, you were negative about relationships too, if you recall, about sharing your home, your heart. And now look where you are."

"Mm, yes…" Elsie settled back again. "Sorry Izzy, this is your day."

"Not changing your mind, are you? About marrying him."

She twisted the engagement ring on her finger, "No. I'm not. I want to be Mrs. Carson."

"Oh goodness, I am Mrs. Clarkson! How does that sound? Isobel Clarkson."

"I. C." Beryl laughed, "That's fitting, you always know everything before we do."

"You are a gossip magnet," Elsie agreed, "I don't know how you do it."

"I'm nice, people trust me. Besides, I only ever share these things with you two." She pushed herself up from the blanket, "Come on, we ought to get back." The other two watched as she got to her feet and smoothed down her skirt. "Do I look creased?"

"It's too dark to tell," Elsie said, also standing. "But if you're creased, I am."

"I like that skirt," Beryl said, still lying on the floor. "Wonderful gold colour on you, you're looking pretty hot actually."

Elsie preened, "Nobody would know I'm having a horribly heavy period now, would they?"

"Never. You look gorgeous." Isobel reached for one of Beryl's hands, Elsie reached for the other and they pulled her up. "And you look stunning too, Mrs. Clarkson, a beautiful silver bride."

"What colour will you wear, Elsie?" Isobel asked, the three of them hooking arms and walking back up the hill towards the hotel.

"White of course, virginal bride."

"Virginal my arse!" Beryl said and they were still giggling as they reached the steps leading up to the open doors.

* * *

"Never really been one for cigars," Charles said as he blew out a long stream of blueish-white smoke. "Odd sensation," he felt his chest tightening as it entered his lungs.

"I always liked the smell." Richard said, "And good ones, they're like silk. You know, Izzy loves the smell, doesn't mind when I've nipped outside for one of a Sunday afternoon."

"Lucky you. Cora can't stand it," Robert said. "Always complains."

"Better than cigarettes," Bill said.

The four men sat around one of the outdoor tables, the darkness surrounding them splintered by the light of their four cigars.

"Feel like a gentleman, cigars and brandy after dinner." Richard said laughing, "It is my wedding day. And I've waited a while for her."

"Tell me about it," Charles sighed, amusing himself by blowing out the smoke slowly, tilting his head back and watching it drift away into the night.

"Oh yeah, Beryl mentioned that," Bill chuckled. "Poor sod."

He felt his heart thump and twisted his head slightly, "What?"

"That she kept you waiting. Or ruining your proposals."

"Farcical." Charles muttered, then surprised himself by laughing, the effects of the alcohol loosening his seriousness. "Five bloody times I asked that woman before she said yes. Five!"

Robert roared with laughter, "Fuck me, once I'd have given up. Can't stand rejection."

"It was hardly rejection. More like… _just wait and see dear_." The men all laughed at his poor imitation of a Scottish accent. _"No rest for the wicked."_

"She say that?"

"Yes, every time I tell her to slow down and take some time off."

"Is she wicked though, that's the question?" Robert said, and Charles rolled his eyes knowingly, thinking of slow dancing with her earlier alongside the bride and groom.

"Hard thing for a workaholic to hear," Richard said, "I can testify to that. I'm as bad." He took another puff of his cigar. "Time to slow down, my time of life, a new wife…"

Bill leant forward and took the brandy bottle from the table, refilling all of their glasses. "I think I'm in a parallel universe where my wife is the one telling me to get to bloody work and stop my whinging."

"Lazy brute," Richard teased.

"I can't say I'm much better mind, I finally get Thomas to take over and go searching for new jobs instead." Charles added.

"Going well though is it, this new trainee programme you've got going on?" Robert asked.

"I wouldn't put my name to it otherwise," Charles said deliberately pompous. "And it's fun, travelling around the country again, only being away from home is harder these days. How about you," he said to Richard, "think you'll stick at the GP role now you're married?"

"Few more years, might step down to a few days but there's chance to be an advisor at other surgeries so I might take that on instead. Make something of my years of experience."

"Wise choice." Robert sat forward, "Here, let's have a toast. Here's to a good life… and the women in it."

"Amen to that," Richard said.

"Here's to our wives," Bill said, then looked at Charles, "and wives to be."

* * *

"Why are you still awake?" Charles whispered across the pillow, his voice deep, warm.

Elsie shrugged, facing him, eyes heavy. "Not sure." She smiled and he could see her eyes glint in the darkness of the room. "Why are _you_ still awake?"

"Thinking," he shifted his leg forward, his knee bumping against her legs. "Been a nice day."

"Lovely. I'm glad it stayed fine for them, no rain."

"It was warm, surprisingly."

She smiled again, "Have we already reached the point where we discuss the weather during our pillow talk?"

"Have we?" He teased back. "Still the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen."

She pursed her lips, "No point flirting with me tonight."

"Always a point. Just for the fun of it."

"The joy of it." She trapped his knee between hers.

"Yes. That." He reached to touch her hair, his arm stretched across the pillow. "Besides, it's the early hours and I rather like that, chatting to you when the rest of this place sleeps."

"Ha, as if, they could be up to all sorts. Especially the newlyweds."

He screwed his nose up, "I'd rather not think of that."

"Of course you wouldn't. They looked so in love, during that dance especially. Will you mind that, everyone watching when we dance?"

"No."

"Being centre of attention?"

"I can cope for one day. Besides I'd be proud enough to stand there and everyone know you've said yes. That you're my wife."

She felt her pulse increase at that, "I'm not entirely used to someone being proud of me. Or proud to be _with_ me."

"You're the most wonderful person, you should know that by now."

He leant forward and kissed her forehead, let his lips linger there before moving an inch from her face to smile, let her see the affection in his eyes before he kissed her mouth. A long, slow kiss.

She sighed happily as she laid against him, head to his chest, his arms around her.

"So, shall we start looking for somewhere then?" She asked.

"Yes," he kissed her head. "And we need to talk to your family, get them all down here."

"All? I was thinking something small."

"As in just your father and sister?"

She sniggered, "Yeah. Maybe my aunt."

"I think we should have them all, as many as possible, a chance to celebrate you… us." He squeezed her tighter. "Plenty of time to discuss guest lists."

"I guess so," she trailed her hand across his chest. "We need to find a venue first. Some nice hall."

"Somewhere grand –,"

"Something manageable." She said more thoughtfully. "Somewhere we can dance, have a nice buffet."

He wrinkled his nose, "Well, we can decide later on that too." He kissed her head again, fingers still threaded into her hair. "So, you said you cried this morning. Why?"

"I don't know, felt emotional I guess. Weddings."

He laughed, "I keep crying too," he admitted and she turned, looking up at him, her chin on his chest and her soft eyes inviting him to open up. "Every now and then, I think of her and it makes me cry. Which is not very manly."

"No, but it is human."

"I shouldn't still crack up though. Driving home from the supermarket and thinking I've forgotten to get that marmalade she likes and then realising I don't need it."

She pressed her palm on his chest, the tips of her fingers at the base of his neck, the thud of his heart beneath her breast.

"Grief isn't linear darling, it doesn't work that way." She paused for a second. "There is nothing wrong with you crying every now and then. It's healthy."

He nodded. "Didn't expect it. Never happened with my father. I keep dreaming of her too. We were on the bus the other night and she was moaning about the storyline in Coronation Street."

Elsie smiled, "And she would do that."

"I know," he chuckled. "I can hear her voice clear as day."

"It's different with your mother I guess, you were here, you were taking care of her. Weren't you working away when your father died?"

"Yeah."

"And it's your mother, nothing anybody can say can make that loss better." She stroked the curl of hair that had come loose and dropped across his forehead. "Don't give yourself such a hard time." She smiled lightly at the look in his eyes, "I know, that is something coming from me."

"We toasted you lot tonight."

"Who did?"

"Went for a cigar with Richard, Bill and Robert."

"I knew I smelled it on you," she slapped his chest, and he chuckled holding her body tighter against his.

"We toasted our wives."

"Oh, is that what I am now…?"

"Close enough, I feel bound to you."

"As in ball and chain?"

"I was thinking in a more romantic way but if that's what works for you."

They laughed together and he kissed her forehead again, breathing in the scent of her hair.

"Question."

"Go on," she said, closing her eyes.

"Five times I proposed to you."

"Oh yes, I'd forgotten that…" she said casually. "Just an average year for me that really."

"That I'm sure of. How many times you been asked, in your life?"

"Besides you?"

"Yes. How many men?"

"Only two –," she started.

"Two?"

"Yes, Joe as you know, and then another."

"Does he have a name? How have you never mentioned this?"

"Simon. His name was Simon and I dated him for a while and it was unimportant."

"Clearly important to him, he proposed."

"Then obviously he was a foolish boy."

"And me? Am I foolish?"

"Absolutely, you kept asking," she leant up to kiss him, "And I'm hopelessly in love with this foolish man. So, how many times have you proposed… or been proposed to?"

"Never. Only once, proposing to you."

"Oh darling."

"Nobody ever wanted me."

"I do."

"Well then I finally got lucky."

She heard him smile in the darkness, imagined the familiar wrinkle beneath his eyes, the raised eyebrows.

"He was nine. And we had been fierce friends since we started in Year One. He was on crutches, see, for a long time. And they hurt him and he hated them and then one day I threw them in the river."

"What? Metal in the river."

"I know, what a litter bug. But you know what, that kid adored me from that moment on."

"I understand his point of view," he squeezed her waist. "Nine indeed. What happened to him?"

"His Dad got a promotion and they moved to Ireland. Broke my heart."

"Your first love?"

"Childish love."

"But still…."

"Hmm, but still. Love is love." She looked up at him, balancing her chin on her hands. "Real love, not easily forgotten." She placed a tender kiss to his chest. "Mr Carson, would you do me the great honour of marrying me?"

His face broke into a smile, the hint of moonlight through the curtains catching the light of his eyes and the sudden tears that had emerged there.

"Without a shadow of a doubt."

She smiled, "Thank goodness."

"That the first time you proposed?"

"Yes, and it'll be the last too."

They lay in silence again, feeling tiredness tug at the edges of the day and take them with it.

"Elsie," he whispered, his eyes closed now.

"Mmm…"

"Did they sink?"

"Yes. Probably still there to this day."

"Vandal."

"Or saviour."

"Delete as appropriate," he said through a yawn and they both smiled; she at the memory of tossing them into the water, he at the very thought of that fiercely stubborn little girl doing it.


	47. Chapter 47

**Chapter 47**

 **October**

"Where are we going? Don't march off so quickly. You said lunch."

"And we will get lunch, I booked a table in a very nice place. But I need to show you something first." Elsie stopped, waiting for Beryl to catch up. She caught hold of her arm, hooking hers around it. "I need your opinion on something. And it's important." She whispered; there was rain threatening and the air felt damp and she'd had a sniffle for days now as it was.

"So, what's so important you're dragging me across Leeds for the day?"

"I saw a dress, and I liked it, immediately. So, I put it away."

"Wait, all this rush for a dress?"

"Not just any dress," she paused at the crossing, "a wedding dress."

"For you?"

"Of course for me. Who else? I saw it online, they had it at this particular store and I asked them to put it away." She stopped walking, "Do you think it's a bit hasty?"

Beryl shrugged, "No, long as you don't gain or lose weight."

"You have to tell me if it's too much, ott you know, or if I'm too old for it."

"Hardly. What's it like?"

"Long, and lacy, god that makes it sound dull… you'll see it soon." She glanced at her phone, "We should be practically on top of the shop."

"I can never work those things out."

"It's got a pale blue front, I saw it online."

"Okay I'm on the lookout. Stop rushing though, your strides are easier than mine."

* * *

"You remember your wedding day?" Elsie asked as she and Beryl waited for the dress to be ready.

"Mostly. Posh in 'ere aint it."

"Yes." Elsie was chewing her thumb nail; she glanced about the white room, so white it was like being on the inside of a 5-tier wedding cake. Luscious pearlescent chairs were artfully set about, two of which they perched on.

"I remember being dead nervous before it all kicked off, and then somehow, once I got into church, I just calmed down and breezed through it." She squeezed Elsie's knee, "You will too, you know that. Brave soul as you are."

"Bottled it last time though, couldn't even make it to the day."

"You were only a kid; besides, I think there were other things going on."

"There were," she swallowed, feeling a familiar tightening in her throat. "Anyway, I'm sure I'll be fine."

"It wasn't as luxurious as Izzy's of course, we were young and poor. But that didn't matter."

"It never does."

"It was fun. We laughed the entire time, we danced and drank. And drank some more."

Elsie laughed, "Perfect." She tapped her hand against her knee nervously. "I hope it fits."

"If it doesn't get it altered. You'll look gorgeous whatever, and I'm sure Charles will melt whatever."

"Ha! He's getting excited."

"Oh I bet," she stopped when a woman entered the room pushing in a clothes rail.

"Alright, so this is the dress you asked for us to save, Ms. Hughes." The young lady said, unzipping the package.

* * *

"Where is Charles anyway?"

"Bristol." She picked up her water and took a long drink. "Last week it was Liverpool."

"And when's he home?"

"End of the week. Thank god."

"You needing some tender care?" Beryl teased, turning over her menu.

"I've had to take care of his bloody greenhouse for almost two weeks, this is not me. I'll be glad when the responsibility has shifted, if I kill anything he might just well kill me. Besides, nothing happening in the 'tender care' area for a while now."

Beryl peered over her glasses, "You need to prepare me for shocking news like that, my heart might give in."

"It's not a joke, I think I've forgotten what it feels like. Besides that, I feel I'm not holding up my part of the bargain."

"Bargain?"

"I don't think Charlie intended to spend his life with someone who's shut up shop."

"And have you?"

Elsie shrugged, "No. The will is there… mostly. But then I feel tired or drawn or emotional or just remember it being awkward the last time."

"I told you to try those things."

"I know but he doesn't…" she lowered her voice and leant forward, "Charles isn't exactly good at coming forward about things like that, I can't imagine just getting horny and then whipping out the lube from my side table. He'd get embarrassed."

"Want me to talk to him, or get Bill to?"

"NO!" She spluttered. "That'd make it worse. He'd die if he knew we'd been discussing this."

"Turn the light off, do it in the dark."

"Christ I'd end up with sticky lubrication all over the bed sheets."

They both laughed together, and Elsie shook her head. "Stop it now, it'll work out, I'm sure. Let's order."

"It's expensive here," Beryl said.

"I said I'd pay, besides we get a discount, Charles knows the manager."

"How perfect. So, I can have steak."

"We both can, and a bottle of red perhaps."

"I'll be pissed, but yes. Good job we took the train." She closed the menu and took out her phone, "Okay, let's have a look at this dress again."

"You think it's too much?"

"Not at all, you looked gorgeous in it. Never mind melt, Charles might wet himself when you walk down the aisle."

"There might not be an aisle. It might not be in church."

"Well, no. But you still need an aisle to have your moment of glory, whether it be in a hall or outside or whatever." She flicked through the photos, laying her phone on the table between them. "Love the overcoat."

"I know right," she turned the phone slightly to get a better look. "The dress underneath is quite plain, but I love the top, and I wouldn't take that off neither."

"You going to have an evening dress?"

"Don't know, I rather think if I may all that money out on this one I don't want to be changing out of it until I collapse into bed."

Beryl waggled her eyebrows, "Wait til then to be intimate again, be a proper wedding night then, your virginity might have grown back."

"It could be years!" She laughed.

"Thought our man Mr Carson was twisting arms."

"Like a gangster, he'll be breaking legs soon too if we don't find a venue. He doesn't want to wait another year."

"Understandable. God, even I'm getting excited for you." Beryl suddenly smiled broadly and placed her hand on Elsie's, "I'm so happy for you," she said more seriously, "you know that you deserve it right, finally."

"Finally," she sighed, perhaps a little unsure. "Thank you. I'm nervous as hell but happy too. What if I trip on the dress?!"

"You'll be the picture of elegance. Practice with Izzy."

"Or forget my vows?"

"Many do. You going to promise to obey?"

"Am I bollocks."

They sniggered, "Maybe you could change it, _I promise to put out_."

Elsie grabbed her friend's arm as they laughed, trying to calm themselves as the waiter approached.

* * *

The belly was back. He hated to admit it, he'd worked so hard to lose a few inches and then gradually it had crept back on. Hotel eating, that was it. These business trips where he'd been travelling around; the last one had been two weeks and he'd practically lived off steak and chips. Elsie would not approve so he often told a little white lie, steak with salad. Which was kind of true, only it was a side salad, a few stray wisps of lettuce he could ignore.

He would have to start again, trim up for his wedding suit. He wanted the full works: double breasted, tails. He was only going to do it once.

He was rubbing the protruding belly when he entered their bedroom. Stopping for a second at the sight in the bed: Elsie reading, that wonderful image of her hair messily tied up and her glasses on and that look of concentration. And Socks, curled in a ball sitting on her head, one white dabbed paw hanging over her forehead.

"What the bloody hell is this?"

"Your place has been usurped. You – _my lover_ – disappeared and so now I have a new young man."

"That can't possibly be comfy."

She turned the page in her book, "It is. We have a way of laying together now."

He moved to his side of the bed and stood looking down at her, "Elsie…"

"Mm?"

"Look at me…"

She glanced over, "What?"

"This is back," he patted his stomach, "and I've got these, man things."

"Boobs."

"You think I have boobs?"

"No, you said that." She said gently, putting her book on her lap and tilting her head towards him.

He bit the inside of his cheek, he was pissed and wanted to argue with her to make himself feel better for feeling low about himself. But that wouldn't help neither of them. And besides, she had that look on her face that was so endearing he felt he would crawl over hot coals just to be close to her face.

"What?" She asked.

"Nothing. You look radiant. I look like shit."

"You've been away from home for two weeks, you just need to sleep in your own bed again and, you know, maybe start walking again." She smiled slightly at him, pursed lips, shining eyes.

"Thanks."

"Better?"

"Won't go off me?"

"Never." She picked up her book again. "Stop being silly and get in bed."

He pushed back the bedsheets and plumped his pillows. "Missed this bed."

"Aha."

"You know I like my pillow."

"I know," she turned another page in her book.

"What's your book about?" he asked, kneeling on the bed and rubbing the ache in his lower back.

"A silent man…"

He smiled; she never missed a beat, her eyes fixed on the page.

He watched her cross her ankles beneath the bedsheets, the way the covers rose as her toes pointed upwards. His eyes followed the line of the sheet up her legs, remembered the shape of her calves, the tender spot behind her knee, the warmth of her thighs.

His pyjama bottoms suddenly felt that little bit tighter.

He leant forward, a hand already in mid-air as he reached to stroke her face.

"If you touch me, he'll hit you."

"I'm his Dad."

"I'm telling you."

She casually turned the page in her book again as he leant down, trailing a finger across her cheek before kissing her there, then her chin, down her neck. His fingers slipping beneath the sheets and moving tantalisingly over her skin. "God I've missed you," he breathed against her chest, and then he jerked back when Socks' nails stabbed into his shoulder.

The small cat appeared to glare at him as he pushed himself up from her body.

"Ow, did he do that on purpose?"

"Told you."

Socks nonchalantly turned around and sank down on Elsie's chest, nuzzling his nose under her chin and settling his head down to sleep.

"He adores me."

"We all do. Bloody hell, how am I meant to get to your breasts now? Can't even risk a nipple."

Elsie sniggered, glancing over her glasses at him, "I'm reading you know."

"I know. But I've been away and I want Elsie cuddles too."

He leant forward again, pushing the bed sheets further down to expose her stomach; lowering himself down, awkwardly angling his long body across the bed as he pressed several soft kisses to the slight rise of her belly, sighing happily against her soft skin.

"I missed you, I want you…" he whispered between kisses.

Elsie's mouth was slightly open now, lips moist from where her tongue had darted out, and the words on her page were losing focus. Having his touch again was electrifying.

There had always been some sense between them – unspoken words, a feeling, an atmosphere, it was tangible and exciting. He could sense her pleasure from the silence of her breath; knowing she was holding it, perhaps biting her lip. The way her body shivered when his mouth passed over that sensitive spot at her waist.

His hand wandered down between her supple thighs. Simultaneously, he twisted his head, glancing up at her face. Her book had fallen by the wayside, yet her glasses still perched on the end of her nose, eyes closed now, mouth open as she breathed deeply.

Charles pressed his fingers down, the spot that always made her moan his name, this time was no different. He felt a slight sense of pride at being able to do it. His blood raced around his body and his heart thudded; a sweep of heat over his skin.

"God," his voice was even deeper than usual; his desire taking over. "I need you…" he mumbled, his erection pressing into the mattress, "I need to get some."

"Charles!" She gasped sharply. "You can't say that."

He looked sheepishly at her, "Can't I?"

She pursed her lips together, trying not to smile.

"It's been a while… I'm patient, but I'd rather like to try and…" he shrugged, his head resting on her stomach as he looked up at her.

She shifted, breathing deeply, putting her book on the bedside table and slipping her glasses off.

The movement made Socks get up again, he meowed at her, seemingly annoyed before plodding across the pillow and jumping to the floor. They both watched as he stretched his body, and then disappeared out of the bedroom door.

"Alone now," he said, the palm of his hand sliding up over her stomach to her chest. "No escape."

"That sounds faintly intimidating."

He smiled, "Can I ravish you now?"

"That depends… can you be gentle with it?"

"Every. Time."

She shrugged, "Well then, ravish away."

He laughed, "If I were younger, fitter… lighter, I would dive on you." He moved gingerly, leaning over her, "Instead you get creaky old bones."

"Do they remember what to do, those bones?"

"I think it might come back to them." His face was by hers, "Hi beautiful."

"Hi…" she squeezed his elbow, "you need to get some?" She prompted. "You need to get laid, hmm? Doesn't matter with who."

"Ohhh it matters," he brushed her hair back, kissed her forehead. "Believe me, it matters."

He was settled on top of her now, the sheets around her legs bunched between them.

"Put your glasses back on."

"Is that sexy to you?"

"Everything is," he kissed her nose, "everything."

She lifted her chin up, that defiant spark in her eyes as he went to kiss her and she shifted just slightly, smirking as he shook his head.

And then she did kiss him. And he drowned in her.

She was breathless as he kissed her, his desire so intense, so complete and he lavished her with attention. His mouth moving over her skin like some spirit, worshipping every inch, and she forgot all about her concerns and he forgot all about feeling old.

When she was screaming his name with her legs in mid-air a sudden realisation of how much she needed this too hit; there was no substitute for intimacy. No substitute for him.

"I love you," she had said as he pressed his face against her chest; panting, thanking, kissing.

"Ohhh god," he groaned, "you have no idea." He lifted his face back to hers, kissing her deeply. "my fiancée."

She smiled. Enigmatic.

"I know that look."

"What look?"

" _Another orgasm please, Mr. Carson_. That look."

"And…?"

"Give me three minutes."

"That's very precise."

"Precision is my middle name."

* * *

Charles came in from the garden to find Elsie sitting at the kitchen table giggling like a child. On the floor, Socks was trotting about with a teddy bear in his mouth, a teddy bear that seemed bigger than he was.

"What's happening here then? Every day he's up to something else."

"New friend, he must've found it in that basket in the room, the baby's things."

"Clearly his now." He went to rinse his hands

"Clearly, you want some breakfast?"

"I'll do it. You said you were feeling a bit poorly. Last of the tomatoes I'm afraid, we'll have to start buying them again."

"What's your winter crop going to be?"

"Hadn't thought of it. I will."

"The catalogue came for the house," she said, turning it over on the kitchen table. "Food options, prices, seating arrangements etc etc. So much to consider."

"Which reminds me though, I wanted to run something by you now we're starting to consider numbers and seating. I'd like William there."

"Of course."

"Which means… inviting Charlie, and Alice."

Elsie let the catalogue fall closed. "Charles –,"

"Now, here me out. I know it's the most awkward thing."

"Bloody understatement."

" –but I can't invite William without them, it'll look odd, more than that, suspicious."

"But that woman…" She got up from her chair, tutting and rolling her eyes. "I'll make the eggs, you're rubbish at them."

"I am not."

"You overcook scrambled eggs, they're dry." She sneezed three times in a row, "God I feel ill." She washed her hands. "Make coffee. And the toast. Mushrooms?"

"Yes. Boss." He squeezed her arm. "And rest today."

She found the whisk, cracked the eggs into a glass bowl and stood overlooking the garden as she whisked them together. His request wasn't selfish, and she had half expected it, but _her_ – to have that woman at her wedding. The supposed happiest day of their lives potentially marred by her presence. She was still terrified of the entire thing as it was, and the more they did, the more it came close to being reality, the more anxious she seemed to grow. She went through these intense sessions of self-doubt, questioning why they should marry if only to divorce. Or if they'd even make it down the aisle. Or if she'd do something ridiculous beforehand and ruin it all.

At the back of her mind, just creeping, was this thought that it would be easier to mess it up. Easier to take her usual route, because she always expected the worse, so what if it just happened, it would stop her wondering when the ball would drop and ruin it all.

"Have you asked William?" She suddenly asked.

"Not yet," he was spooning coffee into the pot. "But she'll behave, I spoke to her…"

"Jesus fucking Christ!" she dropped the whisk, let it clatter into the bowl. "You can't stop yourself."

"That came out wrong, I didn't mean I _spoke_ to her."

"You just said it."

"Don't raise your voice."

"Don't you dare – you're seeing her again!"

"I didn't, I'm not, listen…"

"No."

"Elsie."

"Forget it," she shrugged, pushing past him. "Forget all of it, marry her, it's what you want."

"Woah, we've gone from zero to crazy here."

She spun round on him, "Why would you do that? Why talk to her before me?"

"I didn't."

"You said you had."

"You won't let me explain."

"Why would you continually risk everything for her, does she mean that much? Bloody hell Charles, every time I think we're… every time… and then you just drop this…"

"It's a reasonable request. You're being ridiculous, over the top. You can't just trust me, you can't give me the benefit of the doubt."

"And what reason have you given me to do so?"

"Oh I don't know, Elsie, the last two years of my life. My commitment. I gave up my home, my business…"

"I never asked you to. Never."

"It's never enough, you still have this wall."

" _I'm_ never enough! I can never be enough because I'm not her."

"I'm not having this conversation again."

"Fine, stop mentioning her name in _my_ house."

"Here we go. You can be a spiteful at times."

"I know I'm fucking awful, I don't know why you bother. No need to marry."

"Stop this," he watched as she tried to tug off her engagement ring. "Elsie. Stop it."

"Why can't you let it go?"

"I have. She's gone. I made a logical request. I want my son there."

"That's not what you said."

"That's _exactly_ what I said."

She felt hot, out of control and unable to stop the awful progression of this argument. "I don't want it. Give it her, clearly you wanted her more, she's better, there's always someone better."

"Why do you do this?" He grabbed hold of her, holding her arms, forcing her still. Calm as he spoke. "Why do this?"

"Because… it's the way things are," she said stubbornly. "There's always someone better. I'm not good enough."

"Says who?"

"Me. I say it. You shouldn't be marrying me anyhow, I'll only make you unhappy."

"I disagree."

"I don't believe you."

"I have never lied to you. I would never be anything but honest with you, and I'm telling you I want William at our wedding, and that means she has to be there."

"It's not that… you spoke to her again behind my back. Again."

"I didn't… I ran into her at the golf club, Robert was there. We weren't alone."

"I don't know what she has that draws you back in. What makes her better?"

"There is nobody better," he held her tighter. "You are the most… it's just you, always. You have to stop doubting me, questioning me and waiting for the first signs of me messing up to push me away."

She felt her throat close up, the familiar threat of tears. "It's easier. It's the way things have always been."

"Elsie…" he said soothingly.

"I know I'm an awful person, I know."

"You're the most wonderful person. Slightly erratic at times."

"Bollocks."

"And a sharp tongue. But I want him there, Elsie, non-negotiable."

"If we even get married."

"Don't be stubborn."

"I can't do this…"

"Yes you can. Just stop waiting for the worst." He held her more tenderly. "When I say these words you listen to them and you believe them because I am not a man to lie." He breathed deeply. "I love you. I want to spend my life with you, for you to be my wife. I do not, and will not, ever want to be with Alice. And you have to stop doubting that."

She sucked on her bottom lip, "I was relatively calm until you said you spoke with her – my mind just goes to places… I imagine you behind my back and I doubt I can trust you, like every man…"

" _Not_ like every man," he said forcefully.

"No. Not like every man."

He sighed heavily, "Shall we finish making breakfast. Look at the catalogue."

"It's ruined now. The entire mood."

"Then let's get it back." He softly kissed her forehead. "You're burning up."

"I feel really bad, my throat is tight," she shook her head. "Maybe I do need to rest."

"Go to bed. I'll make myself dry scrambled eggs."

"I wanted to make you breakfast, I did miss you." She sighed, "I don't want to argue."

"We aren't. I'll bring you some tea. Go to bed."

* * *

"Come on, sit forward."

"I'm ill, I'm dying."

"You're not dying, but you are ill." Charles pressed his hand against her back, helping her sit; trying to cover his concerns over just how ill she had become. Three days now. A phone call to the emergency line and confirmation from a home visit it was bronchitis and she could only really wait it out, drink plenty, take painkillers, and rest. Rest as much as possible.

"Come on, you need to drink and take some more pills." He held her as she drank the water he'd brought. "I'll get a hot water bottle."

"I'm burning," she said, falling back into bed and sinking into the softness.

"You have goosebumps, you're shivering." He kissed her head, tucking the bedsheets around her. "We need to keep an eye on this temperature though. If it gets too high I'm taking you to hospital. Bugger what the Doctor said."

"I ache all over, my teeth ache."

"It'll pass. Keep drinking, you need the fluids."

"I felt fine the other day, bit of a dry throat. Sniffly."

"Stop chatting."

"And I'm not friends with you anyway."

"I know," he checked the pillows were holding her up enough to breathe easily. "Hopefully that'll pass too or there'll be no need to argue over guest lists."

She caught hold of his hand, gripping it sharply and he looked to her face – heavy dark eyes and red cheeks.

"I love you," he said, "nobody else. You have to stop doubting that."

Her eyes filled with tears and she twisted her mouth in an attempt to quell them.

"Now, none of that." He stretched over to kiss her forehead again, "it won't help your breathing. My darling."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't –," he sighed heavily, his chest puffing out. "We'll discuss this when you're better."

"I will never get better. I'm dying."

"I won't let you," he sat on the edge of the bed holding her hand. "Go to sleep."

"My head hurts. I keep having the oddest dreams and then waking and crying."

"I know. And none of it will help. You have a fever; your body needs to fight it."

"Oh god… I hate being like this. No use to anybody, can't look after myself." She thought of the fact she'd wet herself on route to the bathroom and he'd had to wipe the floor and change her underwear and she'd been so embarrassed and he'd laughed at it. Carried her back to bed.

"You'd do the same for me."

"Don't catch it."

"I feel fine." He got up, tucking the sheets around her. "I might go for a walk though, get some air, call at the shop on the way back and make you some of that soup."

"Mmm… Bananas."

He smiled as he looked down at her, watching her fall back into another deep fevered sleep.

"Yes bananas."

"And olives."

Well, at least some of her appetite seemed to be returning.

* * *

Almost two weeks later and she was on the mend, driving her friends to Leeds and fretting, because for days now that was all she seemed to have done. Fret over a wedding that seemed to be happening around her, rather than being part of her. Ever since Charles had confirmed the venue and negotiated a decent price.

"I don't why I'm even bothering," she said, her voice hollow. "Going for a second fitting when I'm not even sure…"

"Sure about what?" Beryl said from the back seat.

"You're not getting cold feet?" Isobel asked.

"Is that what they call it? Cold feet? Because every time I think about it I actually feel decidedly hot."

"Elsie…" Isobel's voice had a slight hint of warning, and then she looked across at her friend gripping the steering wheel, her knuckles white, and the struggle on her face not to cry. Reaching over, she touched her wrist, her voice softer now, "Elsie?"

"I don't think I can do it." She admitted. "Every time I think about I get this slight panic setting in, and I keep thinking the craziest things…"

"Like what?" Beryl said, sitting forward to rest a hand on Elsie's shoulder. "Tell me. Us. That's what we're here for."

"There's all this stuff going round in my head. I doubt him, which is ridiculous I know, but then he does things… he mentions Alice. Of course he wants William at the wedding, of course, I get that, but it means that awful woman being there –,"

"Why is he so desperate for William to be there?" Beryl asked.

Isobel breathed deeply, recognition evidently dawning as she glanced across at Elsie. "Oh goodness. Is he…? He's William's father?"

"Shit," she shook her head, mentally stabbing herself. "Please don't – he'd be so… He wouldn't want it to change your opinion of him. You know for Charles how things look matters. His reputation."

"All these years?" Isobel said incredulously, "I've known him all these years and he's never…"

"He didn't know, not for sure, for a long time. She kept him dangling."

"My god," Beryl exclaimed, flopping back in her seat. "Who would've thought, Mr. Upright himself."

"Don't mock him, please."

"Did you just find out?"

She shook her head, "I've known a while, he told me quite early on I suppose." She groaned heavily, wishing to god they weren't on the motorway and she could pull over somewhere. "It just all seems to come together and I still feel so poorly."

"Maybe we should have postponed the fitting." Isobel said.

"I don't know what to do." She shrugged. "What if I'm not even marriage material? I was sitting in this café the other day and this couple looked like Mr and Mrs Dulldrum; they never spoke to each other, or smiled or laughed and I kept thinking of feeling the exact same way years ago, when I was just a girl and sitting there across from my would-be husband feeling like utter shit because I knew I couldn't do it, I couldn't confine myself to a life of belonging to someone and playing this role… And what if Charles and I end up the same? What if we lose this joy and just sink into routine or worse, eventual resentment."

"Have you spoken to him about this?" Isobel asked.

"Kind of, I don't want to upset him," she breathed deeply. "He's so happy, you know, so happy. Joyful about it and so excited about the planning. And yet for me the further we get into it the more I start to just –,"

"Freak out." Beryl said. "Like when you were young."

She glanced in the rear-view mirror to her old friend, "Yes. And I feel so awful, so stupid. Why can't I do this? Why am I such a failure at it?"

"You aren't." Isobel said sternly. "And I would never hurt you, but honestly Elsie you're 'freaking out' over something you've never tried. It seems to me you're talking yourself into this. It started at my wedding, right, you lying there on the grass and you casually saying things about ownership and now it's grown and your brain has elevated it into some god damn beast of a thing that will ruin your life instead of enhancing it."

"Izzy…" Beryl said, sitting forward again and touching her shoulder.

"No listen, you're a smart woman."

"So pull myself together and get on with it?"

"I would never be that harsh. But…" she shrugged. "Look I would never say marry for someone else, not to please us, or even make Charles happy. Do it for you. But think about it logically and calmly. Think about how long it took you to say yes and get used to the idea. Come to terms with it, as it were."

"My head's mush. I don't know what he wants from me."

"I don't think much different to what he wants now. Commitment. Love. Partnership. Friendship. Trust."

"Oh there's the point…" She sighed. "He keeps telling me I have to trust him. Give him the benefit of the doubt."

"And you can't?" Beryl said.

"I can. I DO trust him! I know I do. Then this woman's name… it's not that I even really fear her, I just seem to hear him name and fixate on what he must have felt for her all these years and compare it."

"Why compare her to you? You don't really know her. And they certainly never had any kind of conventional relationship." Isobel started. "And besides if you're going to do that, play that game, why not have Charles do the same, compare your relationships? Your time with Tom for a start."

"He is younger. And hotter." Beryl said, trying to lighten the mood. "Look, love, if I had someone who looked at me the way Charles looks at you I'd marry him. But that's me, I don't have your past, I don't have your personality. I've always liked being married. I liked having someone to fall back on. You liked being independent."

"I could never trust who I fell back on." She moved the car into the inside lane, noting the upcoming junction for Leeds city centre. "You will think I'm crazy."

"We don't already?" Beryl teased.

"Go on." Isobel said, turning a little in her seat.

"My brain naturally goes to worst case scenario. It always has. And in some ways my expectation that the worst will happen is usually justified, it acts like an inevitable cushion. So when it does all hit the fan I don't feel so hurt or cut up because I knew it would end up that way anyhow."

"Okay. So by that token you're thinking the worst here is that your marriage would go wrong?"

"Yes. Well, no, maybe not that."

"What then?"

"That he'd leave me." She said, without much thought, it was honest. Raw. "That he'd go."

"But by behaving like this aren't you pushing him away?"

"Yes."

"That's silly," Isobel said shaking her head. "You mean you're deliberately sabotaging your relationship in order for it to reach your worst case scenario and him leave you. You're forcing the worst to happen, do you understand, you're the one who would make it negative just so you can sit and go 'well I knew it would all go wrong anyway.' Elsie, is that what you mean?"

She nodded, tears streaking down her cheeks, "I guess I do."

"But why?" Beryl said softly, her hands now resting on Elsie's shoulders. "Why would you do that honey?"

"Because I don't deserve to be happy."

It was perhaps the most painful thing to admit, that there could be such a well of pain and self-hatred it could lead to self-sabotage.

"Elsie, you deserve happiness as much as the next person." Isobel said calmly, and Beryl wondered if her years of being married in the medical profession had given her such clarity and the ability to be a harsh yet calm support. "And more to the point, Charles does too. And damn it, you love him?"

"More than anything." She wiped at her face with the back of her hand as they waited at the traffic lights, swiping away tears. "And he's so good to me. He's looked after me this past week and I've… We fit so well. Does that make sense?"

"Yes and we know that. We see that. Why do you think being married to him would make it less; it could make it more? He adores you."

"I know."

"But if you don't feel the same," Beryl said, "then get out now. Don't drag it on…"

"I don't want it to end. I want to be with him. Live with him. Share everything with him."

"That sounds like marriage to me."

Elsie groaned, "I'm such a mess. I wish I could push it down, bottle it and ignore it."

"That wouldn't do anyone any good," Beryl said. "Maybe you needed to air it, talk it through, just to try and clear your head."

"I feel like there's no resolution. I'll be fine and then I come back to this worry."

"Well, maybe it just takes a long time to work through that. Years. But don't ruin it all," Isobel said, "Don't let it go just to hurt yourself."

"You want to still try this dress on?" Beryl said. "Or shall we ring and cancel?"

"No. I want to, I've driven all this way now."

"Right. So one job at a time." Isobel said plainly. "We go try the dress and see if it's still the one you like. Then, lunch, a drink, you need a drink, I can drive back."

"It's Charles' car, he'd kill me if anything happened."

"I'm a good driver!"

Elsie reached over to squeeze her hand, "And a better friend. Am I such a mess? Such an absolute bitch?"

"No. You're just human." Isobel smiled.

"And female." Beryl added. "That accounts for a hell of a lot."

* * *

 _basically trying to finish this so I can move on to my new ideas... leave a comment if you feel so inclined ㈴2_


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